140 


SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 


p  H 

1/5    O 


BY 

SEWELL   FORD 

AUTHOR  OF 

SHORTY  McCABE,  SIDE-STEPPING  WITH 
SHORTY,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

F.  VAUX  WILSON 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  1914,  1915,  BT 
SEWELL  FORD 

COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 

EDWARD    J.    CLODE 

All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.  WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHOBTY  .  „  ^  *       1 

II.  A  FEW  SQUIBMS  BY  BAYARD  .       .  .  „  w      18 

III.  PEEKING  IN  ON  PEDDERS  .       .       .,  w  M  r.       32 

IV.  Two  SINGLES  TO  GOOBER  .       .       ..  M  t.  ,„      49 
V.  THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PASTY    .  >,  ,.,  .      65 

VI.  How  MILLIE  SHOOK  THB  JINX       .,  t.;  ..,  .       81 

VII.  REVERSE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY  ...  .     100 

VIII.  GUMMING  GOPHEB  TO  THE  MAP     .  .  ..  .115 

IX.  WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HEB  SLEEVE  .  .  .     131 

X.  A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME        .....     150 

XI.  UNDEB  THE  WIBE  WITH  EDWIN     .  .  ,.;  .165 

XII.  A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK  ;.  :,  .182 

XIII.  A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY       .  .  .  .198 

XIV.  CATCHING  UP  WITH  GEBALD   .      ;.  .„  .,  „    217 
XV.  SHOBTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID     .  .  .  ..     233 

XVI.  SCBATCH  ONE  ON  BULGAROO    .       .  ..  ,  .     251 

XVII.  BAYABD  DUCKS  His  PAST       .  267 

XVIII.  TBAUJNG  DUDLEY  THBOUGH  A  TBAWCE  w  »    285 

XIX.  A  LITTLE  WHILE  WITH  ALVIN  M  M    304 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  IT  MIGHT  GIVE  US  SOME  CLEW,"  SATS  I,  "  AS  TO 
WHAT    HIM    AND    TOUR    PAW   HAS    A   RUN-IN 

ABOUT  "  .       .       .       .       .     Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

"  I  WOULDN'T  HAVE  ANTTHING  HAPPEN  TO  TOU 

FOR  THE  WORLD,"  SATS  I         ....  8 

"  NOW  SEE  HEA-UH,   MlSTUH  CONSTABLE,"  SATS 

HE,  "  I  WOULDN'T  GO  FOR  TO  DO  ANTTHING 
LIKE  THAT  " 60 

"  SAT,  I'M  A  BEAR  FOR  PARIS  "  .       .       .       .97 

"  NOW,  FRIENDS,"  HE  CALLS,  "  EVERTBODT  EN  ON 

THE  CHORUS  " 124 

"  WHAT'S  THE  IDEA,"  SATS  MABEL,  "  WISHIN' 

THIS  RUBE  STUFF  ON  us?  "  .       .       .       .     157 

HE    SIDLES    UP    TO    THE    DESK    AND    PROCEEDS    TO 

MAKE  SOME  THROATT  NOISES    .  199 


SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 


SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

CHAPTER  I 

WISHING   A   NEW   ONE    ON   SHOBTY 

DO    things    just    happen,    like    peculiar 
changes  in  the  weather,  or  is  there  a 
general  scheme  on  file  somewhere!    Is 
it  a  free-for-all  we're  mixed  up  in — with  our 
Harry  Thaws  and  our  Helen  Kellers ;  our  white 
slavers,  our  white  hopes,  and  our  white  plague 
campaigns;  our  trunk  murders,  and  our  fire 
heroes?     Or  are  we  runnin'  on  schedule  and 
headed  somewhere? 

I  ain't  givin'  you  the  answer.  I'm  just  slip- 
pin'  you  the  proposition,  with  the  side  remark 
that  now  and  then,  when  the  jumble  seems 
worse  than  ever,  you  can  get  a  glimpse  of  what 
might  be  a  clew,  or  might  not. 

Anyway,  here  I  was,  busy  as  a  little  bee,  block- 
in'  right  hooks  and  body  jabs  that  was  bein' 
shot  at  me  by  a  husky  young  uptown  minister 
who's  a  headliner  at  his  job,  I  understand,  but 
who's  developin'  a  good,  useful  punch  on  the 
side.  I  was  just  landin'  a  cross  wallop  to  the 
ribs,  by  way  of  keepin'  him  from  bein'  too  am- 
bitious with  his  left,  when  out  of  the  tail  of 


2        SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

my  eye  I  notices  Swifty  Joe  edgin'  in  with  a 
card  in  his  paw. 

"  Time  out !  "  says  I,  steppin'  back  and  drop- 
pin'  my  guard.  "  Well,  Swifty,  what's  the 
scandal?  " 

"  Gent  waitin'  to  see  you,"  says  he. 

"  Let  him  wait,  then,"  says  I. 

"  Ah-r-r-r,  but  he's  a  reg'lar  gent!"  pro- 
tests Swifty,  fingerin'  the  card. 

"  Even  so,  he'll  keep  five  minutes  more, 
won't  he?  "  says  I. 

"  But  he — he's "  begins  Swifty,  strug- 

glin'  to  connect  that  mighty  intellect  of  his  with 
his  tongue. 

"  Ah,  read  off  the  name,"  says  I.  "Is  it 
Mayor  Mitchel,  Doc  Wilson,  or  who?  " 

"  It  says  J.  B-a-y-a-r-d  Ste — Steele,"  says 
Swifty. 

"  Eh?  '  says  I,  gawpin'.  "  Lemme  see. 
Him!  Say,  Swifty,  you  go  back  and  tell  J. 
Bayard  that  if  he's  got  nerve  enough  to  want 
to  see  me,  it'll  be  a  case  of  wait.  And  if  he's 
at  all  messy  about  it,  I  give  you  leave  to  roll 
him  downstairs.  The  front  of  some  folks! 
Come  on  now,  Dominie!  Cover  up  better  with 
that  right  mitt:  I'm  goin'  to  push  in  a  few  on 
you  this  time." 

And  if  yon  never  saw  a  Fifth  avenue 
preacher  well  lathered  up  you  should  have 
had  a  glimpse  of  this  one  at  the  end  of  the  next 
round.  He's  game,  though;  even  thanks  me  for 
it  puffy. 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHOKTY        3 

"  You're  welcome,"  says  I.  "  Maybe  I  did 
steam  'em  in  a  bit ;  but  I  expect  it  was  because 
I  had  my  mind  on  that  party  out  front.  While 
you're  rubbin'  down  I'll  step  in  and  attend  to 
his  case.  If  I  could  only  wish  a  pair  of  eight- 
ounce  gloves  on  him  for  a  few  minutes !  ' ' 

So,  without  stoppin'  to  change,  or  even  shed- 
din'  the  mitts,  I  walks  into  the  front  office,  to 
discover  this  elegant  party  in  the  stream-line 
cutaway  pacin'  restless  up  and  down  the  room. 
Yes,  he  sure  is  some  imposin'  to  look  at,  with 
his  pearl  gray  spats,  and  the  red  necktie  blazin' 
brilliant  under  the  close-clipped  crop  of  Grand 
Duke  whiskers.  I  don't  know  what  there  is 
special  about  a  set  of  frosted  face  shubb'ry  that 
sort  of  suggests  bank  presidents  and  so  on,  but 
somehow  they  do.  Them  and  the  long,  thin  nose 
gives  him  a  pluty,  distinguished  look,  in  spite 
of  the  shifty  eyes  and  the  weak  mouth  lines. 
But  I  ain't  in  a  mood  to  be  impressed. 

"  Well?  "  says  I  snappy. 

I  expect  my  appearin'  in  a  cut-out  jersey, 
with  my  shoulder  muscles  still  bunched,  must 
have  jarred  him  a  little;  for  he  lifts  his  eye- 
brows doubtful  and  asks,  "  Er — Professor  Mc- 
Cabe,  is  it?  " 

II  Uh-huh,"  says  I.    "  What '11  it  be?  " 
* '  My  name, ' '  says  he,  * '  is  Steele. ' ' 

"  I  know,"  says  I.    "  Snug  fit  too,  I  judge." 
He  flushes   quick  and   stiffens.     "  Do   you 

mean  to  infer,  Sir,  that " 

"  You're  on,"  says  I.    "  The  minute  I  heard 


4       SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

your  name  I  placed  you  for  the  smooth  party 
that  tried  to  unload  a  lot  of  that  phony  Eadio 
stock  on  Mrs.  Benny  Sherwood.  Wanted  to 
euchre  her  out  of  the  twenty  thousand  life  in- 
surance she  got  when  Benny  took  the  booze 
count  last  winter,  eh?  Well,  it  happens  she's  a 
friend  of  Mrs.  McCabe,  and  it  was  through  me 
your  little  scheme  was  blocked.  Now  I  guess 
we  ought  to  be  real  well  acquainted." 

But  I  might  have  known  such  crude  stuff 
wouldn't  get  under  the  hide  of  a  polished  article 
like  J.  Bayard.  He  only  shrugs  his  shoulders 
and  smiles  sarcastic. 

"  The  pleasure  seems  to  be  all  mine,"  says 
he.  "  But  as  you  choose.  Who  am  I  to  con- 
tend with  the  defender  of  the  widow  and  the 
orphan  that  between  issuing  a  stock  and  trad- 
ing in  it  there  is  a  slight  difference  ?  However 
deeply  I  am  distressed  by  your  private  opinion 
of  me,  I  shall  try  to " 

"  Ah,  ditch  the  sarcasm,"  says  I,  "  and 
spring  your  game !  What  is  it  this  trip,  a  wire- 
tappin'  scheme,  or  just  plain  green  goods?  ' 

"  You  flatter  me,"  says  J.  Bayard.  "  No, 
my  business  of  the  moment  is  not  to  appro- 
priate any  of  the  princely  profits  of  your — er 
— honest  toil,"  and  he  stops  for  another  of 
them  acetic-acid  smiles. 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  it  is  a  batty  way  of  gettin' 
money — workin'  for  it,  eh?  But  go  on. 
Whatcher  mean  you  lost  your  dog?  " 

"  I — er — I  beg  pardon?  "  says  he. 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHORTY        5 

"Ah,  get  down  to  brass  tacks!  "  says  I. 
"  You  ain't  payin'  a  society  call,  I  take  it?  " 

He  gets  that.  And  what  do  you  guess  comes 
next?  Well,  he  hands  over  a  note.  It's  from 
a  lawyer's  office,  askin'  him  to  call  at  two  P.M. 
that  day  to  meet  with  me,  as  it  reads,  "  and 
discuss  a  matter  of  mutual  interest  and  advan- 
tage." It's  signed  "  B.  K.  Judson,  Attorney." 

"  Well,  couldn't  you  wait?  "  says  L  "It's 
only  eleven- thirty  now,  you  know." 

"  It  is  merely  a  question,"  says  Steele,  "  of 
whether  or  not  I  shall  go  at  all." 

"So  you  hunt  me  up  to  do  a  little  private 
sleuthin'  first,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"It  is  only  natural,"  says  he.  "I  don't 
know  this  Mr. — er — Judson,  or  what  he  wants 
of  me." 

"  No  more  do  I,"  says  I.  "  And  the  notice 
I  got  didn't  mention  you  at  all;  so  you  have 
that  much  edge  on  me. ' ' 

"  And  you  are  going?  "  says  he. 

"  I'll  take  a  chance,  sure,"  says  I.  "  Maybe 
I'll  button  my  pockets  a  little  tighter,  and  tuck 
my  watchfob  out  of  sight;  but  no  lawyer  can 
throw  a  scare  into  me  just  by  askin'  me  to  call. 
Besides,  it  says  '  mutual  interest  and  advan- 
tage,' don't  it?  " 

"  H-m-m-m!  "  says  Mr.  Steele,  after  gazin' 
at  the  note  thoughtful.  "So  it  does.  But 

lawyers  have  a  way  of "  Here  he  breaks 

off  sudden  and  asks,  "  You  say  you  never  heard 
of  this  Mr.  Judson  before?  " 


6        SHOBTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  That's  where  you  fool  yourself,"  says  I. 
"  I  said  I  didn't  know  him;  but  if  it'll  relieve 
your  mind  any,  I've  heard  him  mentioned.  He 
used  to  handle  Pyramid  Gordon's  private  af- 
fairs." 

"  Ah!  Gordon!  "  says  Steele,  his  shifty  eyes 
narrowin '.  '  *  Yes,  yes !  Died  abroad  a  month 
or  so  ago,  didn't  he?  " 

"  In  Eome,"  says  I.  "  The  rheumatism  got 
to  his  heart.  He  could  see  it  comin'  to  him  be- 
fore he  left.  Poor  old  Pyramid!  " 

"  Indeed?  "  says  Steele.  "  And  was  Gordon 
— er — a  friend  of  yours,  may  I  ask?  " 

"  One  of  my  best,"  says  I.  "  Know  him,  did 
you?  " 

Mr.  Steele  darts  a  quick  glance  at  me. 
*  *  Eather !  ' '  says  he. 

"  Then  there  can't  be  so  much  myst'ry  about 
this  note,  then,"  says  I.  "  Maybe  he's  willed 
us  a  trinket  or  so.  Friend  of  yours  too,  I  ex- 
pect? " 

J.  Bayard  almost  grins  at  that.  "  I  have  no 
good  reason  to  doubt,"  says  he,  "  that  Pyramid 
Gordon  hated  me  quite  as  thoroughly  and  ac- 
tively as  I  disliked  him." 

"  He  was  good  at  that  too,"  says  L  "  Had 
a  little  run-in  with  him,  did  you?  ' 

"  One  that  lasted  something  like  twenty 
years,"  says  Steele. 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.    "  Fluffs  or  finance?  " 

"  Purely  a  business  matter,"  says  he.  "  It 
began  in  Chicago,  back  in  the  good  old  days 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHORTY        7 

when  trade  was  unhampered  by  fool  adminis- 
trations. At  the  time,  if  I  may  mention  the 
fact,  I  had  some  little  prominence  as  a  pool  or- 
ganizer. We  were  trying  to  corner  July  wheat, 
— getting  along  very  nicely  too, — when  your 
friend  Gordon  got  in  our  way.  He  had  man- 
aged to  secure  control  of  a  dinky  grain-carrying 
railroad  and  a  few  elevators.  On  the  strength 
of  that  he  demanded  that  we  let  him  in.  So  we 
were  forced  to  take  measures  to — er — eliminate 
him." 

"  And  Pyramid  wouldn't  be  eliminated, 
eh?  "  says  I. 

J.  Bayard  shrugs  his  shoulders  careless  and 
spreads  out  his  hands.  "  Gordon  luck!  "  says 
he.  "  Of  course  we  were  unprepared  for  such 
methods  as  he  employed  against  us.  Up  to  that 
time  no  one  had  thought  of  stealing  an  advance 
copy  of  the  government  crop  report  and  using 
it  to  break  the  market.  However,  it  worked. 
Our  corner  went  to  smash.  I  was  cleaned  out. 
You  might  have  thought  that  would  have  satis- 
fied most  men ;  but  not  Pyramid  Gordon !  Why, 
he  even  pushed  things  so  far  as  to  sell  out  my 
office  furniture,  and  bought  the  brass  signs, 
with  my  name  on  them,  to  hang  in  his  own 
office,  as  a  Sioux  Indian  displays  a  scalp,  or  a 
Mindanao  head  hunter  ornaments  his  gatepost 
with  his  enemy's  skull.  That  was  the  begin- 
ning; and  while  my  opportunities  for  paying 
off  the  score  have  been  somewhat  limited,  I 
trust  I  have  neglected  none.  And  now — well, 


8       SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

I  can't  possibly  see  why  the  closing  up  of  his 
affairs  should  interest  me  at  all.  Can  you?  " 

"  Say,  you  don't  think  I'm  doin'  any  volun- 
teer frettin'  on  your  account,  do  you?  "  says  I. 

"  I  quite  understand,"  says  he.  "  But  about 
seeing  this  lawyer — do  you  advise  me  to  go?  " 

He's  squintin'  at  me  foxy  out  of  them  shifty 
eyes  of  his,  cagy  and  suspicious,  like  we  was 
playin'  some  kind  of  a  game.  You  know  the 
sort  of  party  J.  Bayard  is — if  you  don't,  you're 
lucky.  So  what's  the  use  wastin'  breath!  I 
steps  over  and  opens  the  front  office  door. 

"  Don't  chance  it,"  says  I.  "I  wouldn't 
have  anything  happen  to  you  for  the  world. 
I'll  tell  Judson  I've  come  alone,  to  talk  for  the 
dictograph  and  stand  on  the  trapdoor.  And  as 
you  go  down  the  stairs  there  better  walk  close 
to  the  wall." 

J.  Bayard,  still  smilin',  takes  the  hint.  "  Oh, 
I  may  turn  up,  after  all,"  says  he  as  he  leaves. 

"  Huh!  "  says  I,  indicatin'  deep  scorn. 

But  if  I'd  been  curious  before  about  this  in- 
vite to  the  law  office,  I  was  more  so  now.  So 
shortly  after  two  I  was  on  hand.  And  I  find 
Mr.  Steele  has  beat  me  to  it  by  a  minute  or  so. 
He's  camped  in  the  waitin'  room,  lookin'  as 
imposin'  and  elegant  as  ever. 

"  Well,  you  ain't  been  sandbagged  or  jabbed 
with  a  poison  needle  yet,  I  see,"  says  I. 

He  glances  around  uneasy.  "  Mr.  Judson  is 
coming,"  says  he.  "  They  said  he  was — here 
he  is!" 


"I  WOULDN'T  HAVE  ANYTHING  HAPPEN  TO  YOU  FOR 

THE  WORLD,"   SAYS  I. 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHORTY        9 

No  thin'  terrifyin'  about  Judson,  either. 
He's  a  slim-built,  youngish  lookin'  party,  with 
an  easy,  quiet  way  of  talkin',  a  friendly,  con- 
fidin'  smile;  but  about  the  keenest,  steadiest 
pair  of  brown  eyes  I  ever  had  turned  loose  on 
me.  He  shakes  us  cordial  by  the  hand,  thanks 
us  for  bein'  prompt,  and  tows  us  into  his 
private  office. 

"  I  have  the  papers  all  ready,"  says  he. 

"  That's  nice,"  says  I.  "  And  maybe  some- 
time or  other  you  can  tell  us  what  it's  all 
about?  " 

"  At  once,"  says  he.  "  You  are  named  as  co- 
executors  with  me  for  the  estate  of  the  late 
Curtis  B.  Gordon." 

At  which  J.  Bayard  gasps.  "  I?  "  says  he. 
"  An  executor  for  Pyramid  Gordon?  " 

Judson  nods.  "  I  understand,"  says  her 
"  that  you  were — ah — not  on  friendly  terms 
with  Mr.  Gordon.  But  he  was  a  somewhat  un- 
usual man,  you  know.  In  this  instance,  for  ex- 
ample, he  has  selected  Professor  McCabe,  whom 
he  designates  as  one  of  his  most  trusted  friends, 
and  yourself,  whom  he  designates  as  his — ah — 
oldest  enemy.  No  offense,  I  hope?  ' 

"  Quite  accurate,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
says  Steele. 

"  Very  well,"  says  the  lawyer.  "  Then  I 
may  read  the  terms  of  his  will  that  he  wishes 
us  to  carry  out." 

And,  believe  me,  even  knowin'  some  of  the  odd 
streaks  of  Pyramid  Gordon  the  way  I  did,  this 


10      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

last  and  final  sample  had  me  bug-eyed  before 
Judson  got  through!  It  starts  off  straight 
enough,  with  instructions  to  deal  out  five  thou- 
sand here  and  ten  there,  to  various  parties, — 
his  old  office  manager,  his  man  Minturn,  that 
niece  of  his  out  in  Denver,  and  so  on.  But  when 
it  come  to  his  scheme  for  disposin'  of  the 
bulk  of  his  pile — well,  just  lemme  sketch  it  for 
you! 

Course,  I  can't  give  it  to  you  the  way  Pyra- 
mid had  it  put  down ;  but  here  was  the  gen  'ral 
plan:  Knowin'  he  had  to  take  the  count,  he'd 
been  chewin'  things  over.  He  wa'n't  squealin', 
or  tryin'  to  square  himself  either  here  or  be- 
yond. He'd  lived  his  own  life  in  his  own  way, 
and  he  was  standin'  pat  on  his  record.  He 
knew  he'd  put  over  some  raw  deals;  but  the 
same  had  been  handed  to  him.  Maybe  he'd  hit 
back  at  times  harder 'n  he  'd  been  hit.  If  he  had, 
he  wa'n't  sorry.  He'd  only  played  the  game 
accordin'  to  the  rules  he  knew. 

Still,  now  that  it  was  most  over,  he  had  in 
mind  a  few  cases  where  he'd  always  meant  to 
sort  of  even  things  up  if  he  could.  There  was 
certain  parties  he  'd  thrown  the  hooks  into  kind 
of  deep  maybe,  durin'  the  heat  of  the  scrap; 
and  afterwards,  from  time  to  time,  he  'd  thought 
he  might  have  a  chance  to  do  'em  a  good  turn, 
— help  'em  back  to  their  feet  again,  or  some- 
thing like  that.  But  somehow,  with  bein'  so 
busy,  and  kind  of  out  of  practice  at  that  sort 
of  thing,  he'd  never  got  around  to  any  of  'em. 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHORTY      11 

So  now  he  was  handin'  over  the  job  to  us,  all 
in  a  lump. 

"  And  I  have  here,"  goes  on  Mr.  Judson,  ex- 
hibitin'  a  paper,  "  a  list  of  names  and  ad- 
dresses. They  are  the  persons,  Mr.  Steele,  on 
whose  behalf  you  are  requested,  with  the  advice 
and  help  of  Professor  McCabe,  to  perform  some 
kind  and  generous  act.  My  part  will  be  merely 
to  handle  the  funds."  And  he  smiles  confidinr 
at  J.  Bayard. 

Mr.  Steele  has  been  listenin'  close,  his  ears 
cocked,  and  them  shifty  eyes  of  his  takin'  in 
every  move;  but  at  this  last  he  snorts.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say,"  says  he,  "  that  I  am 
asked  to — er — to  play  the  good  fairy  to  per- 
sons who  have  been  wronged  by  Pyramid 
Gordon?  " 

"  Precisely,"  says  the  lawyer.  "They  num- 
ber something  over  twenty,  I  believe;  but  the 
fund  provided  is  quite  ample — nearly  three 
millions,  if  we  are  able  to  realize  on  all  the 
securities." 

"  But  this  is  absurd,"  says  J.  Bayard,  "  ask- 
ing me  to  distribute  gifts  and  so  on  to  a  lot  of 
strangers  with  whom  I  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon, except,  perhaps,  a  common  enemy!  A 
fine  time  I'd  have,  wouldn't  I,  explaining 
that " 

"  Pardon  me,"  breaks  in  Judson,  "  but  one 
of  the  conditions  is  that  it  must  all  be  done 
anonymously;  at  least,  so  far  as  the  late  Mr. 
Gordon  is  concerned.  As  for  your  own  identity 


12      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

in  the  several  cases,  you  may  make  it  known  or 
not,  as  you  see  fit." 

' '  How  truly  fascinating !  ' '  sneers  Mr. 
Steele,  gettin'  up  and  reachin'  for  his  hat. 
"  To  go  about  like  an  unseen  ministering  angel, 
trying  to  salve  the  bygone  bruises  of  those  who 
were  unlucky  enough  to  get  in  Pyramid  Gor- 
don's way!  Beautiful!  But  unfortunately  I 
have  other  affairs." 

He  was  startin'  for  the  door  too,  when  Jud- 
son  smiles  quiet  and  holds  up  a  stayin'  hand. 
"  Just  a  moment  more,"  says  the  lawyer. 
"  You  may  be  interested  to  hear  of  another  dis- 
position decided  upon  by  Mr.  Gordon  in  the 
event  of  your  refusal  to  act  in  this  capacity." 

"  He  might  have  known  me  better,"  says 
Steele. 

"  Perhaps  he  did,"  says  Judson.  "  I  should 
hardly  say  that  he  lacked  insight  or  shrewdness. 
He  was  a  man  too,  who  was  quite  accustomed  to 
having  his  own  way.  In  this  instance  he  had 
rather  a  respectable  fortune  to  dispose  of  ac- 
cording to  his  own  somewhat  original  ideas. 
Leave  it  to  public  institutions  he  would  not. 
He  was  thoroughly  opposed  to  what  he  termed 
post-mortem  philanthropy  of  the  general  kind. 
To  quote  his  own  words, '  I  am  not  enough  of  a 
hypocrite  to  believe  that  a  society  based  on  or- 
ganized selfishness  can  right  its  many  wrongs 
by  spasmodic  gifts  to  organized  charity.'  : 

J.  Bayard  shifts  uneasy  on  his  feet  and 
smothers  a  yawn.  "  All  very  interesting,  I'm 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHOETY      13 

sure,"  says  he;  "  but  really,  you  know,  Pyra- 
mid Gordon's  theories  on  such  matters  do 
not " 

"  I  am  merely  suggesting,"  breaks  in  the 
lawyer,  "  that  you  may  care  to  glance  over  an- 
other list  of  twenty  names.  These  are  the  per- 
sons among  whom  Mr.  Gordon's  estate  will  be 
divided  if  the  first  plan  cannot  be  carried  out. ' ' 

Mr.  Steele  hesitates;  but  he  fin'lly  fishes  out 
a  pair  of  swell  nose  pinchers  that  he  wears  hung 
from  a  wide  ribbon,  and  assumes  a  bored  ex- 
pression. He  don't  hold  that  pose  long.  He 
couldn't  have  read  more'n  a  third  of  the  names 
before  he  shows  signs  of  bein'  mighty  in- 
t 'rested. 

"  Why,  see  here!  "  says  he.  "I'd  like  to 
know,  Sir,  where  in  thunder  you  got  this  list !  ' ' 

"  Yes,  I  thought  you  would,"  says  Judson. 
1 '  It  was  quite  simple.  Perhaps  you  remember, 
a  few  days  ago,  meeting  a  friendly,  engag- 
ing young  man  in  the  cafe  of  your  hotel? 
Asked  you  to  join  him  at  luncheon,  I  believe, 
and  talked  vaguely  about  making  invest- 
ments? " 

"  Young  Churchill?  "  says  J.  Bayard. 

"  Correct,"  says  the  lawyer.  "  One  of  our 
brightest  young  men.  Entertaining  talker  too. 
And  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  it  was  he  who  opened 
a  good-natured  discussion  as  to  the  limit  of 
actual  personal  acquaintance  which  the  average 
man  has,  ending  by  his  betting  fifty  dollars — 
rather  foolishly,  I  admit — that  you  could  not 


14      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

remember  the  names  and  addresses  of  twenty 
persons  whom  you  actually  disliked.  Well,  you 
won.  Here  is  the  list  you  made  out." 

And  the  stunned  way  J.  Bayard  gawps  at  the 
piece  of  paper  brings  out  a  snicker  from  me. 
He  flushes  up  at  that  and  glares  down  at  Jud- 
son. 

' '  Tactics  worthy  of  a  Tombs  lawyer !  ' '  says 
he.  "I  congratulate  you  on  your  high-class 
legal  methods!  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  says  Judson.  "  A  sugges- 
tion of  Mr.  Gordon's.  Another  evidence  of  his 
insight  into  character,  as  well  as  his  foresight 
into  events.  So,  you  see,  Mr.  Steele,  if  you  de- 
cline to  become  the  benefactor  of  Mr.  Gordon's 
enemies,  his  money  goes  to  yours!  " 

"  The  old  fox!  "  snarls  J.  Bayard.  "  Why 
—I — let  me  see  that  list  again." 

It's  no  more'n  gripped  in  his  fingers  than  he 
steps  back  quick  and  begins  tearin'  it  to  bits. 
I'd  jumped  for  him  and  had  his  wrists  clinched 
when  Judson  waves  me  off. 

"  Only  a  copy,"  says  he  smilin'.  "  I  have 
several  more.  Sit  down,  Mr.  Steele,  and  let  me 
give  you  another." 

Kind  of  dazed  and  subdued,  J.  Bayard  sub- 
mits to  bein'  pushed  into  a  chair.  After  a 
minute  or  so  he  fixes  his  glasses  again,  and  be- 
gins starin'  at  the  fresh  list,  murnblin'  over 
some  of  the  names  to  himself. 

"To  them!    Three  millions!  "  says  he  gaspy. 

"  Roughly  estimated,"  says  Judson,  "  that 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHORTY      15 

would  be  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars  apiece  which  you  would,  in  effect,  hand 
over. ' ' 

"  And  the  only  way  to  keep  them  from  get- 
ting it,"  goes  on  Steele,  "  is  for  me  to  spend 
my  time  hunting  up  Pyramid  Gordon's  lot!  " 

"  Not  entirely  without  recompense,"  adds 
the  lawyer.  "  As  an  inducement  for  doing  the 
work  thoroughly,  I  am  authorized  to  give  you  a 
commission  on  all  you  spend  in  that  way." 

"  How  much?  "  demands  the  other. 

11  Twenty  per  cent.,"  says  Judson.  "  For  in- 
stance, if  in  doing  some  kind  and  generous  deed 
for  a  person  on  Mr.  Gordon's  list,  you  spend, 
say,  five  thousand,  you  get  a  thousand  for  your- 
self." 

"  Ah!  "  says  Steele,  perkin'  up  consider 'ble. 

"  The  only  condition  being,"  goes  on  the 
lawyer,  "  that  in  each  case  your  kind  and  gen- 
erous proposals  must  have  the  indorsement  and 
approval  of  Professor  McCabe,  who  is  asked 
to  give  his  advice  in  these  matters  on  a  five  per 
cent,  basis.  I  may  add  that  a  like  amount  comes 
to  me  in  place  of  any  other  fee.  So  you  see  this 
is  to  be  a  joint  enterprise.  Is  that  satisfactory 
to  you,  Mr.  McCabe?  " 

"  It's  more'n  I  usually  get  for  my  advice," 
says  I,  "  and  I  guess  Pyramid  Gordon  knew 
well  enough  he  didn't  have  to  pay  for  anything 
like  that  from  me.  But  if  that's  the  way  he 
planned  it  out,  it  goes." 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Steele?  "  says  Jndson. 


16      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  One  dollar  for  every  five  that  I  can  spend 
of  Pyramid  Gordon's  money?  "  says  he, 
wrinklin'  his  eye  corners.  "With  pleasure! 
When  may  I  begin?  " 

"  Now,"  says  Judson,  reachin'  prompt  into 
a  pigeonhole  and  producin'  a  sealed  envelope. 
"  Here  is  the  first  name  on  the  list.  When  you 
bring  me  Professor  McCabe's  indorsement  of 
any  expenses  incurred,  or  sum  to  be  paid  out, 
I  shall  give  you  a  check  at  once." 

And,  say,  the  last  I  see  of  J.  Bayard  he  was 
driftin'  through  the  door,  gazin'  absent-minded 
at  the  envelope,  like  he  was  figurin'  on  how 
much  he  could  grab  off  at  the  first  swipe.  I 
gazes  after  him  thoughtful  until  the  comic  side 
of  it  struck  me. 

"  This  is  a  hot  combination  we're  in,  eh?  "  I 
chuckles  to  the  lawyer  gent.  "  Steele,  Judson 
&  McCabe,  Joy  Distributers;  with  J.  Bayard 
there  wieldin'  the  fairy  wand.  Why,  say,  I'd 
as  quick  think  of  askin'  Scrappy  McGraw  to 
preside  at  a  peace  conference!  " 

Mr.  Judson 's  busy  packin'  away  his  papers 
in  a  document  case;  but  he  smiles  vague  over 
his  shoulder. 

"  Honest  now,"  I  goes  on,  "  do  you  think 
our  friend  will  make  good  as  the  head  of  the 
sunshine  department?  " 

"  That,"  says  Judson,  "  is  a  matter  which 
Mr.  Gordon  seems  to  have  left  wholly  to  you." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  doin'  the  gawp  act  sudden  on 
my  own  account.  ' '  Well,  post  me  for  a  Bush 


WISHING  A  NEW  ONE  ON  SHORTY      17 

League  yannigan  if  it  don't  listen  that  way! 
Then  I  can  see  where  I'll  be  earnin'  my  five 
per  cent,  all  right,  and  yet  some!  Referee 
for  a  kind  deeds  campaign !  Good  night,  Sister 
Sue!  But  it's  on  old  Pyramid's  account;  so  let 
J.  Bayard  shoot  3em  in!  " 


CHAPTEE  H 

A   FEW   SQUIRMS   BY  BAYARD 

SAY,  take  it  from  me,  this  job  of  umpirin'  a 
little-deeds-of-kindness  campaign,  as  conducted 
by  J.  Bayard  Steele,  Esq.,  ain't  any  careless 
gladsome  romp  through  the  daisy  fields.  It's  a 
real  job! 

He's  the  one,  you  know,  that  poor  old  Pyra- 
mid Gordon — rest  his  soul! — picked  out  to 
round  up  all  the  hangover  grouches  he'd 
strewed  behind  him  durin'  a  long  and  active 
career,  with  instructions  to  soothe  the  same 
with  whatever  balm  seemed  best,  regardless  of 
expense. 

And  the  hard  part  of  it  for  Steele  is  that  he 
has  to  get  my  O.K.  on  all  his  schemes  before 
he  can  collect  from  the  estate.  And  while  I 
don't  bill  myself  for  any  expert  on  lovin '-kind- 
ness, and  as  a  gen'ral  thing  I  ain't  of  a  sus- 
picious nature,  I'm  wise  enough  to  apply  the 
acid  test  and  bore  for  lead  fillin'  on  anything 
he  hands  in.  Course  maybe  I'm  too  hard  on 
him,  but  it  strikes  me  that  an  ex-pool  organizer, 
who  makes  a  livin*  as  capper  for  a  hotel  branch 
of  a  shady  stock-brokin'  firm,  ain't  had  the 
best  kind  of  trainin'  as  an  angel  of  mercy. 

18 


A  FEW  SQUIEMS  BY  BAYARD      19 

So  when  he  shows  up  at  my  Physical  Culture 
Studio  again,  the  day  after  Lawyer  Judson 
has  explained  for  us  the  fine  points  of  that 
batty  will  of  Pyramid's,  I'm  about  as  friendly 
and  guileless  as  a  dyspeptic  customs  inspector 
preparin'  to  go  through  the  trunks  of  a  Fifth 
avenue  dressmaker.  He  comes  in  smilin'  and 
chirky,  though,  slaps  me  chummy  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  remarks  cordial: 

11  Well,  my  trusty  coworker  in  well  doing,  I 
have  come  to  report  progress." 

"  Shoot  it,  then,"  says  I,  settlin'  back  in  my 
chair. 

"  You  will  be  surprised,"  he  goes  on,  "  to 
learn  who  is  first  to  benefit  by  my  vicarious 
philanthropy. ' ' 

"  Your  which?  "  says  L 

"  Merely  another  simile  for  our  glorious 
work,"  says  he.  "  You  couldn't  guess  whose 
name  was  in  that  envelope, — Twombley- 
Crane's!  " 

"  The  Long  Island  plute!  "  says  I.  "  You 
don't  say!  Why,  when  did  Pyramid  ever  get 
the  best  of  him,  I  wonder?  " 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  affair  myself," 
says  Steele.  * '  It  was  more  than  a  dozen  years 
ago,  when  Twombley-Crane  was  still  actively 
interested  in  the  railroad  game.  He  was  presi- 
dent of  the  Q.,  L.  &  M.;  made  a  hobby  of  it, 
you  know.  Used  to  deliver  flowery  speeches  to 
the  stockholders,  and  was  fond  of  boasting  that 
his  road  had  never  passed  a  dividend.  About 


20      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

that  time  Gordon  was  organizing  the  Water 
Level  System.  He  needed  the  Q.,  L.  &  M.  as 
a  connecting  link.  But  Twombley-Crane  would 
listen  to  no  scheme  of  consolidation.  Rather 
an  arrogant  aristocrat,  Twombley-Crane,  as 
perhaps  you  know?  " 

"  Yes,  he's  a  bit  stiff  in  the  neck,"  says  L 
"  He  gave  Gordon  a  flat  no,"  goes  on  Steele. 
"  Had  him  shown  out  of  his  office,  so  the  story 
went.  And  of  course  Pyramid  started  gunning 
for  him.  Twombley-Crane  had  many  interests 
at  the  time,  financial,  social,  political.  But 
suddenly  his  appointment  as  Ambassador  to 
Germany,  which  had  seemed  so  certain,  was 
blocked  in  the  Senate ;  his  plans  for  getting  con- 
trol of  all  the  ore-carrying  steamer  lines  on  the 
Lakes  were  upset  by  the  appearance  of  a  rival 
steamship  pool ;  and  then  came  the  annual  meet- 
ing of  the  Q.,  L.  &  M.,  at  which  Gordon  pre- 
sented a  dark  horse  candidate.  You  see,  for 
months  Pyramid  had  been  buying  in  loose  hold- 
ings and  gathering  proxies,  and  on  the  first 
ballot  he  fired  Twombley-Crane  out  of  the  Q., 
L.  &  M.  so  abruptly  that  he  never  quite  knew 
how  it  happened.  And  you  know  how  Gordon 
milked  the  line  during  the  next  few  years.  It 
was  a  bitter  pill  for  Twombley-Crane;  for  it 
hurt  his  pride  as  well  as  his  pocketbook.  That 
was  why  he  quit  Chicago  for  New  York.  Not 
a  bad  move,  either ;  for  he  bought  into  Manhat- 
tan Transportation  at  just  the  right  time.  But 
I  imagine  he  never  forgave  Gordon." 


A  FEW  SQUIRMS  BY  BAYAED      21 


. . 


Huh!  "  says  I.  "So  that's  why  they  used 
to  act  so  standoffish  whenever  they'd  run 
across  each  other  here  at  the  studio.  Well, 
well!  And  what's  your  idea  of  applyin'  a 
poultice  to  Twombley-Crane's  twelve-year-old 
sting?  " 

"Ah-h-h!"  says  J.  Bayard,  rubbin'  his 
hands  genial,  and  at  the  same  time  watchin'  me 
narrow  to  see  how  I'm  goin'  to  take  it. 
"  Rather  difficult,  eh?  I  confess  that  I  was 
almost  stumped  at  first.  Why,  he's  worth  to- 
day twice  as  much  as  Gordon  ever  was!  So 
it  ought  to  be  something  handsome,  hadn't  it?  " 

"  That  depends,"  says  I.  "  Have  anything 
special  in  mind,  did  you?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  Steele.  "  Now  what  do  you 
say  to  presenting  him  with  a  nice,  comfortable 
steam  yacht,  all  equipped  for  cruising,  with  a 
captain  and " 

"Flag  it!"  says  I.  "  Twombley-Crane 
ain't  a  yachty  person,  at  all.  He's  a  punk 
sailor,  to  begin  with.  Besides,  he's  tried  ownin' 
a  yacht,  and  she  almost  rusted  apart  waitin' 
for  him  to  use  her.  Nothing  like  that  for 
him." 

J.  Bayard  looks  mighty  disappointed.  He'd 
planned  on  spendin'  a  couple  of  hundred  thou- 
sand or  so  of  Pyramid's  money  at  one  lick, 
you  see,  which  would  have  been  some  haul  for 
him,  and  my  turnin'  the  scheme  down  so  prompt 
was  a  hard  blow.  He  continued  to  argue  the 
case  for  ten  minutes  before  he  gives  up. 


22      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Well,  what  is  the  objection,  then,"  he  goes 
on,  "  to  a  handsome  limousine,  with  one  of 
those  luxurious  French  bodies,  solid  silver  fit- 
tings, and " 

"  He's  got  a  garage  full  of  cars  now,"  says 
I,  "  and  hardly  ever  steps  into  one  himself. 
His  fad  is  to  stick  to  horses,  you  know." 

More  long-face  business  by  J.  Bayard.  But 
he's  a  quick  recoverer.  "  In  that  case,"  says 
he,  "  suppose  I  send  over  for  a  pair  of  Arabs, 
the  best  blood  to  be  found,  and  have  them  put 
into  his  stable  as  a  surprise?  " 

"  Steele,"  says  I,  tappin'  him  encouragin' 
on  the  knee,  "  you've  got  the  spendin'  part 
down  fine;  but  that  alone  don't  fill  the  bill.  As 
I  take  it,  Pyramid  meant  for  us  to  do  more  than 
just  scatter  around  a  lot  of  expensive  gifts 
reckless  like.  *  Some  kind  and  generous 
act,'  is  the  way  he  put  it.  Let's  remember 
that." 

"  But,"  says  he,  shruggin'  his  shoulders 
eloquent,  "  here  is  a  man  who  has  everything 
he  wants,  money  enough  to  gratify  every  wish. 
How  am  I  to  do  anything  kind  and  generous 
for  him?  " 

' '  That 's  all  up  to  you, ' '  says  I.  "  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was  any- 
body, no  matter  how  rich,  who  had  everything 
he  wanted.  There's  always  something,  maybe 
so  simple  as  to  sound  absurd,  that  he'd  like 
and  can't  get.  I'll  bet  it's  that  way  with 
Twombley-Crane.  Now  if  you  don't  know  him 


well  enough  to  find  out,  my  advice  would  be 

"  Oh,  I  know  him  well  enough,"  breaks  in 
J.  Bayard,  "  even  if  he  doesn't  know  me.  I 
share  the  distinction  with  Gordon  of  having 
been,  on  one  occasion,  barred  out  of  Twombley- 
Crane's  office;  only  I  got  no  farther  than  his 
private  secretary.  It  meant  a  good  deal  to  me 
at  the  time  too,  and  wouldn't  have  hurt  him 
at  all.  I  merely  wanted  his  firm  to  handle  some 
bonds  of  a  concern  I  was  trying  to  promote. 
With  merely  a  nod  he  could  have  opened  the 
door  of  success  for  me.  But  he  wouldn't.  Oh, 
no!  Played  the  role  of  haughty  aristocrat,  as 
usual,  and  never  gave  me  another  thought.  But 
I  managed  to  get  back  at  him,  in  a  small 
way." 

"  Oh,  you  did,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  It  was  a  couple  of  years  later,  in  Paris," 
goes  on  Steele.  **  I  was  dining  in  one  of  those 
big  cafes — Maxime's,  I  think, — when  I  recog- 
nized him  at  the  next  table.  He  was  telling  a 
friend  of  a  find  he'd  made  in  an  old  printshop, 
— a  pencil  sketch  by  Whistler.  He  collects 
such  things,  I  believe.  Well,  this  was  some- 
thing he  wanted  very  badly ;  but  he  'd  happened 
to  be  caught  without  cash  enough  to  pay  for  it. 
So  he'd  asked  the  dealer  to  put  it  aside  until 
next  day.  There  was  my  chance.  I  know  some- 
thing about  etchings;  own  a  few,  in  fact,  al- 
though I'd  never  splurged  on  Whistlers.  But 
I  was  on  hand  next  morning  when  that  shop 


24      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

opened,  and  for  a  bonus  of  twenty  francs  I  per- 
suaded the  old  pirate  to  sell  me  the  sketch  he 
was  holding  for  Twombley-Crane.  It  was  a 
beauty  too;  one  of  the  half-dozen  Whistler  did 
in  working  up  that  portrait  of  his  mother,  per- 
haps his  most  famous  piece.  It's  about  the 
only  sketch  of  the  kind,  too,  not  in  a  public 
gallery.  How  Twombley-Crane  must  have 
raved  at  that  Frenchman!  So,  as  the  English 
put  it,  I  did  score  off  him  a  bit,  you  see." 

"  You  sure  did,"  says  I.  "  That  picture 
collection  is  what  he's  daffy  over;  even  more 
so  than  over  his  horses.  And  right  there,  J. 
Bayard,  is  your  cue." 

"  Eh?  "  says  he,  starin'  puzzled. 

"  Simple  as  swearin'  off  taxes,"  says  I. 
"  Send  him  the  sketch." 

Mr.  Steele  gasps.  "Wha-a-at!"  says  he. 
"  Why,  I've  been  offered  ten  times  what  I  paid 
for  it,  and  refused;  although  there  have  been 
times  when — well,  you  understand.  My  dear 
McCabe,  that  little  pencil  drawing  is  much 
more  to  me  than  a  fragment  of  genius.  It 
stands  for  satisfaction".  It's  something  that  I 
own  and  he  wants." 

"  And  there  you  are,"  says  I.  "  Been 
rackin'  your  nut  to  dig  up  something  kind  and 
generous  to  do  for  him,  ain't  you?  Well?  ' 

Say,  you  should  have  seen  the  look  J.  Bayard 
gives  me  at  that!  It's  a  mixture  of  seven  dif- 
f'rent  kinds  of  surprise,  reproach,  and  indig- 
nation. And  the  line  of  argument  he  puts  up 


A  FEW  SQUIRMS  BY  BAYARD      25 

too !  How  lie  does  wiggle  and  squirm  over  the 
very  thought  of  givin'  that  picture  to  Twom- 
bley-Crane,  after  he'd  done  the  gloat  act  so 
long! 

But  I  had  the  net  over  Mr.  Steele  good  and 
fast,  and  while  I  was  about  it  I  dragged  him 
over  a  few  bumps ;  just  for  the  good  of  his  soul, 
as  Father  Reardon  would  say. 

. "  Oh,  come!  "  says  I.  "  You're  makin'  the 
bluff  that  you  want  to  scatter  deeds  of  kind- 
ness; but  when  I  point  one  out,  right  under 
your  nose,  you  beef  about  it  like  you  was  bein' 
frisked  for  your  watch.  A  hot  idea  of  bein' 
an  angel  of  mercy  you've  got,  ain't  you?  Hon- 
est now,  in  your  whole  career,  was  you  ever 
guilty  of  wastin'  a  kind  word,  or  puttin'  out 
the  helpin'  hand,  if  you  couldn't  see  where  it 
might  turn  a  trick  for  J.  Bayard  Steele?  ' 

Makes  him  wince  a  little,  that  jab  does,  and 
he  flushes  up  under  the  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  ever  posed  either 
as  a  philanthropist  or  a  saint,"  says  he.  "  If 
I  seem  to  have  assumed  a  role  of  that  sort  now, 
it  is  because  it  has  been  thrust  upon  me,  be- 
cause I  have  been  caught  in  a  web  of  circum- 
stances, a  tangle  of  things,  without  purpose, 
without  meaning.  That's  what  life  has  always 
been  to  me,  always  will  be,  I  suppose, — a  blind, 
ruthless  maze,  where  I've  snatched  what  I  could 
for  myself,  and  given  up  what  I  couldn't  hold. 
Your  friend  Gordon  did  his  share  in  making  it 
so  for  me;  this  man  Twombley-Crane  as  well. 


26      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Do  you  expect  me  to  be  inspired  with  goodness 
and  kindliness  by  them?  ' 

"  Oh,  Pyramid  had  his  good  points,"  says  I. 
"  You'd  find  Twombley-Crane  has  his,  if  you 
knew  him  well  enough." 

"  And  who  knows,"  adds  Steele,  defiant  and 
bitter,  "  but  that  I  may  have  mine?  " 

I  glances  at  him  curious.  And,  say,  with  that 
set,  hard  look  in  them  narrow  eyes,  and  the 
saggy  droop  to  his  mouth  corners,  he's  almost 
pathetic.  For  the  first  time  since  he'd  drifted 
across  my  path  I  didn't  feel  like  pitchin'  him 
down  the  stairs. 

"Well,  well!"  says  I  soothin'.  "Maybe 
you  have.  But  you  don't  force  'em  on  folks, 
do  you?  That  ain't  the  point,  though.  The 
question  before  the  house  is  about  that " 

"  Suppose  I  hand  back  Twombley-Crane's 
name,"  says  he,  "  and  try  another?  " 

I  shakes  my  head  decided.  "  No  dodgin'," 
says  I.  "  That  point  was  covered  in  Pyramid's 
gen'ral  directions.  If  you  do  it  at  all,  you  got 
to  take  the  list  as  it  runs.  But  what's  a  pic- 
ture more  or  less?  All  you  got  to  do  is  wrap 
it  up,  ship  it  to  Twombley-Crane,  and " 

"  I — I  couldn't!  "  says  J.  Bayard,  almost 
groanin'.  "  Why,  I've  disliked  him  for  years, 
ever  since  he  sent  out  that  cold  no!  I've  al- 
ways hoped  that  something  would  happen  to 
bend  that  stiff  neck  of  his;  that  a  panic  would 
smash  him,  as  I  was  smashed.  But  he  has 
gone  on,  growing  richer  and  richer,  colder  and 


colder.  And  when  I  got  this  sketch  away  from 
him — well,  that  was  a  crumb  of  comfort.  Don't 
you  see!  " 

"  Kind  of  stale  and  picayune,  Steele,  it 
strikes  me,"  says  I.  "  Course,  you're  the  doc- 
tor. If  you'd  rather  see  all  them  other  folks 
that  you  dislike  come  in  for  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  apiece,  with  no  rakeoff  for  you — 
why,  that's  your  business.  But  I'd  think  it 
over. ' ' 

"  Ye-e-es,"  says  he  draggy.  "  I — I  suppose 
I  must." 

With  that  he  shakes  his  shoulders,  gets  on  his 
feet,  and  walks  out  with  his  chin  well  up ;  leavin' 
me  feelin'  like  I'd  been  tryin'  to  wish  a  dose  of 
castor  oil  on  a  bad  boy. 

"  Huh!  "  thinks  I.  "I  wonder  if  Pyramid 
guessed  all  he  was  lettin'  me  in  for?  " 

What  J.  Bayard  would  decide  to  do — drop 
the  whole  shootin'  match,  or  knuckle  under  in 
this  case  in  the  hopes  of  gettin'  a  fat  commis- 
sion on  the  next — was  more'n  I  could  dope  out. 
But  inside  of  an  hour  I  had  the  answer.  A 
messenger  boy  shows  up  with  a  package.  It's 
the  sketch  from  Steele,  with  a  note  savin'  I 
might  send  it  to  Twombley-Crane,  if  that  would 
answer.  He'd  be  hanged  if  he  would!  So  I 
rings  up  another  boy  and  ships  it  down  to 
Twombley-Crane 's  office,  as  the  easiest  way  of 
gettin'  rid  of  it.  I  didn't  know  whether  he  was 
in  town  or  not.  If  he  wa'n't,  he'd  find  the  thing 
when  he  did  come  in.  And  while  maybe  that 


28      SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

don't  quite  cover  all  the  specifications,  it's  near 
enough  so  I  can  let  it  pass.  Then  I  goes  out 
to  lunch. 

Must  have  been  about  three  o'clock  that 
afternoon,  and  I'd  just  finished  a  session  in  the 
gym,  when  who  should  show  up  at  the  studio 
but  Twombley-Crane.  What  do  you  suppose? 
Why,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I'd  sent  the  pic- 
ture without  any  name  or  anything,  he'd  been 
so  excited  over  gettin'  it  that  he'd  rung  up  the 
messenger  office  and  bluffed  'em  into  tellin' 
where  the  call  had  come  in  from.  And  as  long 
as  I'd  known  him  I've  never  seen  Twombley- 
Crane  thaw  out  so  much.  Why,  he  acts  almost 
human  as  he  shakes  hands !  Then  he  takes  the 
package  from  under  his  arm  and  unwraps  it. 

"  The  Whistler  that  I'd  given  up  all  hope  of 
ever  getting!  "  says  he,  gazin'  at  it  admirin' 
and  enthusiastic. 

"  So?  "  says  I,  noncommittal. 

"  And  now  it  appears  mysteriously,  sent 
from  here,"  says  he.  "  Why,  my  dear  fellow, 
how  can  I  ever " 

' '  You  don 't  have  to, "  I  breaks  in,  ' '  because 
it  wa'n't  from  me  at  all." 

"  But  they  told  me  at  the  district  office,"  he 
goes  on,  "  that  the  call  came  from " 

"  I  know,"  says  I.  "  That's  straight  enough 
as  far  as  it  goes.  But  you  know  that  ain't  in 
my  line.  I  was  only  passin'  it  on  for  someone 
else." 

"  For  whom?  "  he  demands. 


"  That's  tellin',''  says  I.    "  It's  a  secret." 

' '  Oh,  but  I  must  know, ' '  says  he,  ' '  to  whom 
I  am  indebted  so  deeply.  You  don't  realize, 
McCabe,  how  delighted  I  am  to  get  hold  of  this 
gem  of  Whistler's.  Why,  it  makes  my  collec- 
tion the  most  complete  to  be  found  in  any 
private  gallery!  " 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  be  satisfied  then,"  says 
I.  "  Why  not  let  it  go  at  that?  " 

But  not  him.  No,  he'd  got  to  thank  some- 
body ;  to  pay  'em,  if  he  could. 

"  How  much,  for  instance?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  I  should  readily  have  given  five  thou- 
sand for  it,"  says  he;  "  ten,  if  necessary." 

"  Not  fifteen?  "  says  I. 

' '  I  think  I  would, ' '.  says  he. 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Some  folks  don't  care 
what  they  do  with  money.  We'll  split  the  dif- 
f'rence  though,  and  call  it  twelve  and  a  half. 
But  it  don't  cost  you  a  cent.  It's  yours  be- 
cause you  wanted  it,  that's  all;  and  maybe  the 
one  that  sent  it  is  glad  you've  got  it.  That's  a& 
far  as  I  can  go." 

"  But  see  here,  McCabe!  "  he  insists.  "  De- 
lighted as  I  am,  I  must  know  who  it  is  that " 

Just  here  the  front  office  door  opens,  and  in 
walks  J.  Bayard.  For  a  second  he  don't  notice 
Twombley-Crane,  who's  standin'  between  me 
and  the  window. 

"  Oh,  I  say!  "  says  Steele,  sort  of  breathless 
and  hasty.  "  Have  you  sent  that  away  yet?  " 

A  freak  hunch  hit  me  and  I  couldn't  shake  it: 


30      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

I  guess  I  wanted  to  see  what  would  happen.  So 
I  nudges  Twombley-Crane. 

"  Here's  the  party  now,  if  you  must  know," 
says  I.  "  This  is  Mr.  J.  Bayard  Steele." 

"  Eh?  "  says  he,  steppin'  forward.  "  Steele, 
did  you  say?  Why,  my  dear  Sir,  although  I 
must  admit  that  I  am  stupid  enough  not  to  re- 
member you,  I  must  express  my  most " 

Say,  he  did  it  handsome  too.  He  grabs  J. 
Bayard  brotherly  by  the  mitt,  and  passes  him 
an  enthusiastic  vote  of  thanks  that* don't  leave 
out  a  single  detail.  Yes,  he  sure  did  unload 
the  gratitude;  with  J.  Bayard  standin'  there, 
turnin'  first  one  color  and  then  another,  and 
not  bein'  able  to  get  out  a  word. 

'  *  And  surely,  my .  dear  Sir, ' '  he  winds  up, 
' '  you  will  allow  me  to  recompense  you  in  some 
way?  " 

Steele  shakes  his  head.  "  It's  not  pre- 
cisely," he  begins,  "  as  if  I — er " 

"Ah-h-h!"  says  Twombley-Crane,  beamin' 
friendly.  "  I  think  I  see.  You  had  heard  of 
my  collection." 

J.  Bayard  nods. 

"  And  you  conceived  the  idea,"  goes  on 
Twombley-Crane,  "  of  completing  it  in  this 
anonymous  and  kindly  manner?  Believe  me, 
Sir,  I  am  touched,  deeply  touched.  It  is  indeed 
good  to  know  that  such  generous  impulses  are 
felt,  that  they  are  sometimes  acted  upon.  I 
must  try  to  be  worthy  of  such  a  splendid  spirit. 
I  will  have  this  hung  at  once,  and  to-morrow 


A  FEW  SQUIRMS  BY  BAYAED       31 

night,  Friend  Steele,  you  must  come  to  see  it ;  at 
my  country  place,  you  know.  We  dine  at  seven. 
I  shall  expect  you,  Sir."  And  with  a  final 
brotherly  grip  he  goes  out. 

"  Well,"  says  I  to  J.  Bayard,  "  that's  over, 
ain't  it?  You've  put  across  the  genuine  article. 
How  does  it  feel?  " 

He  br.ushes  his  hand  over  his  eyes  sort  of 
dazed.  "  Really,"  says  he,  "  I — I  don't  know. 
I  was  coming,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  to  take  the 
sketch  back.  The  more  I  thought  it  over,  the 

worse  I But  he  was  pleased,  wasn't  he? 

And  Twombley-Crane  too !  I  would  not  have 
believed  that  he  could  act  so  decently." 

' '  Well,  he  believed  it  of  you, ' '  says  I.  ' '  You 
don't  stand  to  lose  so  much  either,  by  the  way. 
Here !  Wait  until  I  write  a  voucher  for  twenty 
per  cent,  of  twelve  thousand  five  hundred.  His 
figures,  you  know.  There!  Now  you  can  col- 
lect from  Judson  and  call  for  name  Number 
Two." 


CHAPTER 

PEEKING  IN    ON   PEDDERS 

WHO  started  that  dope  about  Heaven  givin* 
us  our  relations  but  thanks  be  we  can  pick 
friends  to  suit  ourselves?  Anyway,  it's  phony. 
Strikes  me  we  often  have  friends  wished  on  us ; 
sort  of  accumulate  'em  by  chance,  as  we  do  ap- 
pendicitis, or  shingles,  or  lawsuits.  And  at 
best  it's  a  matter  of  who  you  meet  most,  and 
how. 

Take  J.  Bayard  Steele.  Think  I'd  ever 
hunted  him  out  and  extended  the  fraternal 
grip,  or  him  me?  Not  if  everyone  else  in  the 
world  was  deaf  and  dumb  and  had  the  itch! 
We're  about  as  much  alike  in  our  tastes  and 
gen'ral  run  of  ideas  as  Bill  Taft  and  Bill  Hay- 
wood;  about  as  congenial  as  our  bull  terrier 
and  the  chow  dog  next  door.  Yet  here  we  are, 
him  hailin'  me  as  Shorty,  and  me  callin'  him 
anything  from  J.  B.  to  Old  Top,  and  confabbin' 
reg'lar  most  every  day,  as  chummy  as  you 
please. 

All  on  account  of  our  bein'  mixed  up  in  car- 
ryin'  out  this  batty  will  of  Pyramid  Gordon's. 
First  off  I  didn't  think  I'd  have  to  see  him 
more'n  once  a  month,  and  then  only  for  a  short 

32 


PEEKING  IN  ON  PEDDEBS          33 

session ;  but  since  he  put  through  that  first  deal 
and  collected  his  twenty-four  hundred  com- 
mission, he's  been  showin'  up  at  the  stu- 
dio frequent,  with  next  to  no  excuse  for 
comin'. 

You  remember  how  he  drew  Twombley- 
Crane  as  the  first  one  that  he  had  to  unload  a 
kind  and  gen'rous  act  on,  and  how  I  made  him 
give  up  the  picture  that  he'd  gloated  over  so 
long?  Well,  J.  Bayard  can't  seem  to  get  over 
the  way  that  turned  out.  Here  he  'd  been  forced 
into  doin'  something  nice  for  a  party  he  had  a 
grudge  against,  has  discovered  that  Twombley- 
Crane  ain't  such  a  bad  lot  after  all,  and  has 
been  well  paid  for  it  besides,  out  of  money  left 
by  his  old  enemy. 

"  Rather  a  remarkable  set  of  circumstances, 
eh,  Shorty?  "  says  he,  tiltin'  back  comf 'table 
in  one  of  my  front  office  chairs  and  lightin'  up 
a  fresh  twenty-five-cent  cigar.  "  An  instance 
of  virtue  being  rewarded  on  a  cash  basis.  Not 
only  that,  but  I  was  royally  entertained  down 
at  Twombley- Crane's  the  other  night,  you 
know.  I  think  too  I  interested  him  in  a  little 
development  scheme  of  mine. ' ' 

"  Jump  off !  "  says  I.  "  You're  standin' 
on  your  foot.  If  you  dream  you  can  slip 
any  of  your  fake  stock  onto  him,  you're  due 
to  wake  up.  Better  stick  to  widows  and 
orphans." 

At  which  jab  Mr.  Steele  only  chuckles  easy. 
"  What  an  engagingly  frank  person  you  are!  " 


34      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

says  he.  "  As  though  rich  widows  weren't  fair 
game!  But  with  the  practice  of  philanthropy 
so  liberally  compensated  I'm  not  troubling 
them.  Your  friend,  the  late  Mr.  Gordon,  has 
banished  the  wolf  from  my  door;  for  the  im- 
mediate present,  at  least.  I  wonder  if  he  an- 
ticipated just  how  much  I  should  enjoy  his  post- 
mortem munificence?  " 

And  here  J.  Bayard  gives  a  caressin'  pat  to 
his  Grand  Duke  whiskers  and  glances  approvin' 
down  at  the  patent  leathers  which  finish  off  a 
costume  that's  the  last  word  in  afternoon  ele- 
gance. You've  seen  a  pet  cat  stretch  himself 
luxurious  after  a  full  meal?  Well,  that's  J. 
Bayard.  He'd  hypothecated  the  canary.  If  he 
hadn't  been  such  a  dear  friend  of  mine  too,  I 
could  have  kicked  him  hearty. 

"  Say,  you're  a  wonder,  you  are!  "  says  I. 
"  But  I  expect  if  your  kind  was  common,  all 
the  decent  people  would  be  demandin'  to  be 
jailed,  out  of  self-respect." 

Another  chuckle  from  J.  Bayard.  "  Is  that 
envy,"  says  he,  "  or  merely  epigram?  But  at 
least  we  will  agree  that  our  ethical  standards 
vary.  You  scorn  mine;  I  find  yours  curiously 
entertaining.  The  best  thing  about  you  is  that 
you  seem  to  bring  me  good  luck." 

"  Don't  trust  that  too  far,"  says  I.  "I'm 
neither  hump-backed,  nor  a  live  Billiken.  How 
soon  are  you  going  to  start  on  proposition  Num- 
ber Two?  " 

"Ah!"  says  he,  straightenin'.     "That  is 


35 

the  real  business  of  the  moment,  isn't  it!  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  just  about  to  seek  your 
valuable  advice  on  the  subject." 

"Shoot  it,  then,"  says  I.  "Who's  the 
party!  " 

He  explores  his  inside  pockets,  fishes  out  an 
envelop,  and  inspects  it  deliberate.  It's  sealed; 
but  he  makes  no  move  to  open  it.  "  My  next 
assignment  in  altruism,"  says  he,  holdin'  it  to 
the  light.  "  Eich  man,  poor  man,  beggar  man, 
thief— I  wonder?  " 

"  Ah,  come!  "  says  I,  handin'  him  a  paper 
knife. 

"  But  there's  no  need  for  haste,"  says  J. 
Bayard.  "  Just  consider,  Shorty:  In  this  en- 
velop is  the  name  of  some  individual  who  was 
the  victim  of  injustice,  large  or  small,  at  the 
hands  of  Pyramid  Gordon,  someone  who  got  in 
his  way,  perhaps  years  ago.  Now  I  am  to  do 
something  that  will  offset  that  old  injury. 
While  the  name  remains  unread,  we  have  a  bit 
of  mystery,  an  unknown  adventure  ahead  of  us, 
perhaps.  And  that,  my  dear  McCabe,  is  the 
salt  of  life." 

"  Say,  you  ought  to  take  that  lecture  out  on 
the  Chautauqua,"  says  I.  "  Get  busy — slit  or 
quit!" 

"  Very  well,"  says  he,  jabbin'  the  knife  un- 
der the  flap.  "  To  discover  the  identity  of  the 
next  in  line!  " 

"  Well?  "  says  I,  as  he  stares  at  the  slip  of 
paper.  "  Who  do  you  pluck  this  time?  " 


36      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

11  An  enigma,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
says  he.  ' '  Listen :  '  John  Wesley  Pedders,  in 
1894  cashier  of  the  Merchants'  Exchange  Bank, 
at  Tullington,  Connecticut.'  Ever  hear  of  such 
a  person,  Shorty?  ' 

"  Not  me,"  says  I,  "  nor  the  place  either." 

"  Then  it  remains  to  be  discovered  first," 
says  Steele,  "  whether  for  twenty  years  Ped- 
ders has  stayed  put  or  not.  Haven't  a  Path- 
finder handy,  have  you  ?  Never  mind,  there  are 
plenty  at  the  hotel.  And  if  to-morrow  is  such 
another  fine  spring  day  as  this,  I'll  run  up 
there.  I'll  let  you  know  the  results  later;  and 
then,  my  trusty  colleague,  we  will  plot  joy- 
ously for  the  well-being  of  John  "Wesley  Ped- 
ders." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Don't  try  to  pull  any 
steam  yachts  or  French  limousines  on  me  this 
time.  The  kind  stuff  goes,  remember." 

"  To  your  acute  sense  of  fitness  in  such  mat- 
ters, McCabe,"  says  he,  "I  bow  profoundly," 
and  with  a  jaunty  wave  of  his  hand  he  drifts 
out. 

Honest,  compared  to  the  shifty-eyed,  suspi- 
cious-actin'  party  that  blew  into  my  studio  a 
few  weeks  back,  he  seems  like  a  kid  on  a  Coney 
Island  holiday.  I  expect  it's  the  prospects  of 
easy  money  that's  chirked  him  up  so;  but  he 
sure  is  a  misfit  to  be  subbin'  on  a  deeds-of-kind- 
ness  job.  That  ain't  my  lookout,  though.  All 
I  got  to  do  is  pass  on  his  plans  and  see  that 
he  carries  'em  out  accordin'  to  specifications. 


PEEKING  IN  ON  PEDDEES          37 

So  I  don't  even  look  up  this  tank  station  on  the 
map. 

A  couple  of  days  go  by,  three,  and  no  bulletin 
from  J.  Bayard.  Then  here  the  other  mornin' 
I  gets  a  long  distance  call.  It's  from  Steele. 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "Where  the  blazes  are 
you?  " 

"  Tullington,"  says  he. 

"Oh!"  says  I.  "Still  there,  are  you? 
Found  Pedders?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,"  says  he;  "  but  I  am  completely 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  for  him.  I  say, 
McCabe,  couldn't  you  run  up  here?  It's  a  cu- 
rious situation,  and  I — well,  I  need  your  advice 
badly.  There 's  a  train  at  eleven-thirty  that  con- 
nects at  Danbury.  Couldn't  you?  " 

Well,  I  hadn't  figured  on  bein'  any  travelin' 
inspector  when  I  took  this  executor  job ;  but  as 
J.  Bayard  sends  out  the  S  0  S  so  strong  I 
can't  very  well  duck.  Besides,  I  might  have 
been  a  little  int 'rested  to  know  what  he'd 
dug  up. 

So  about  three-fifteen  that  afternoon  finds 
me  pilin'  off  a  branch  accommodation  at  Tul- 
lington. Mr.  Steele  is  waitin'  on  the  platform 
to  meet  me,  silk  lid  and  all. 

"  What  about  Pedders?  "  says  I. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  him  first,"  says  J.  Bay- 
ard. 

"  On  exhibition,  is  he?  "  says  I. 

"  In  a  town  of  this  size,"  says  he,  "  everyone 
is  on  exhibition  continuously.  It's  the  penalty 


38      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

one  pays  for  being  rural,  I  suppose.  I've  been 
here  only  two  days;  but  I'll  venture  to  say  that 
most  of  the  inhabitants  know  me  by  name  and 
have  made  their  guess  as  to  what  my  business 
here  may  be.  It's  the  most  pitiless  kind  of  pub- 
licity I  ever  experienced.  But  come  on  up  to 
the  postoffice,  and  I'll  show  you  Pedders." 

"  Fixture  there,  is  he?  "  says  I. 

"  Twice  a  day  he  comes  for  the  mail,"  says 
J.  Bayard.  "  Your  train  brought  it  up.  He'll 
be  on  hand." 

So  we  strolls  up  Main  street  from  the  sta- 
tion, while  Steele  points  out  the  brass  works, 
the  carpet  mill,  the  opera  house,  and  Judge 
Hanks'  slate-roofed  mansion.  It  sure  is  a  jay 
burg,  but  a  lively  one.  Oh,  yes!  Why,  the 
Ladies'  Aid  Society  was  holdin'  a  cake  sale  in  a 
vacant  store  next  to  the  Bijou  movie  show,  and 
everybody  was  decoratin'  for  a  firemen's 
parade  to  be  pulled  off  next  Saturday.  We 
struck  the  postoffice  just  as  they  brought  the 
mail  sacks  up  in  a  pushcart  and  dragged  'em 
in  through  the  front  door. 

"  There  he  is,"  says  Steele,  nudgin'  me, 
* '  over  in  the  corner  by  the  writing  shelf !  ' : 

What  he  points  out  is  a  long-haired,  gray- 
whiskered  old  guy,  with  a  faded  overcoat  slung 
over  his  shoulders  like  a  cape,  and  an  old  slouch 
hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  He's  standin' 
there  as  still  and  quiet  as  if  his  feet  was  stuck 
to  the  floor. 

"  Kind  of  a  seedy  old  party,  eh?  "  says  I. 


PEEKING  IN  ON  PEDDERS          39 

"  Why  not?  "  says  J.  Bayard.  "  He's  an 
ex-jailbird." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  says  I.    "  What  brand?  " 

"  Absconder,"  says  he.  ll  Got  away  with 
a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  from  the  local 
bank." 

"Well,  well!"  says  I.  "Didn't  spend  it 
dollin'  himself  up,  did  he?  " 

"  Oh,  all  that  happened  twenty  years  ago," 

says  Steele.  * '  The  odd  part  of  it  is,  though 

But  come  over  to  the  hotel,  where  I  can  tell  you 
the  whole  story." 

And,  say,  he  had  a  tale,  all  right.  Seems 
Pedders  had  been  one  of  the  leadin'  citizens, — 
cashier  of  the  bank,  pillar  of  the  church,  mem- 
ber of  the  town  council,  and  all  that, — with  a 
wife  who  was  a  social  fav'rite,  and  a  girl  that 
promised  to  be  a  beauty  when  she  grew  up. 
The  Pedders  never  tried  to  cut  any  gash, 
though.  They  lived  simple  and  respectable  and 
happy.  About  the  only  wild  plunge  the  neigh- 
bors ever  laid  up  against  him  was  when  he  paid 
out  ten  dollars  once  for  some  imported  tulip 
bulbs. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  it  was  discovered  that 
a  bunch  of  negotiable  securities  had  disap- 
peared from  the  bank  vaults.  The  arrow 
pointed  straight  to  Pedders.  He  denied ;  but  he 
couldn't  explain.  He  just  shut  up  like  a  clam, 
and  let  'em  do  their  worst.  He  got  ten  years. 
Before  he  was  put  away  they  tried  to  make  him 
confess,  or  give  'em  some  hint  as  to  what  he'd 


40      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

done  with  the  bonds.  But  there  was  nothhi' 
doin'  in  that  line.  He  just  stood  pat  and  took 
his  medicine. 

Bein'  a  quiet  prisoner,  that  gave  no  trouble 
and  kept  his  cell  tidy,  he  scaled  it  down  a  couple 
of  years.  Nobody  looked  for  him  to  come  back 
to  Tullington  after  he  got  loose.  They  all  had 
it  doped  out  that  he  'd  salted  away  that  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  somewhere,  and  would  pro- 
ceed to  dig  it  up  and  enjoy  it  where  he  wa'n't 
known. 

But  Pedders  fooled  'em  again.  Straight  back 
from  the  bars  he  come,  back  to  Tullington  and 
the  little  white  story-and-a-half  cottage  on  a 
side  street,  where  Mrs.  Pedders  and  Luella  was 
waitin'  for  him. 

She'd  had  some  hand-to-hand  tussle  mean- 
while, Mrs.  Pedders  had;  but  she'd  stuck  it  out 
noble.  At  the  start  about  nine  out  of  ten  of 
her  neighbors  and  kind  friends  was  dead  sure 
she  knew  where  that  bunch  of  securities  was 
stowed,  and  some  of  'em  didn't  make  any  bones 
of  sayin'  she  ought  to  be  in  jail  along  with  Ped- 
ders. So  of  course  that  made  it  nice  and  comfy 
for  her  all  around.  But  she  opened  up  a  little 
millinery  shop  in  her  front  parlor,  and  put  up 
jams  and  jellies,  and  raised  a  few  violets  under 
a  window  sash  in  the  back  yard.  She  didn't 
quite  starve  that  first  year  or  so;  though  no- 
body knew  just  how  close  she  shaved  it.  And 
in  time  even  them  that  had  been  her  closest 
friends  begun  to  be  sorry  for  her. 


PEEKING  IN  ON  PEDDERS          41 

When  Pedders  showed  up  again  all  the  old 
stories  was  hashed  over,  and  the  whole  of  Tul- 
lington  held  its  breath  watchin'  for  some  sign 
that  he's  dug  up  his  bank  loot.  But  it  didn't 
come.  Pedders  just  camped  down  silent  in  his 
old  home  and  let  his  whiskers  grow.  Twice  a 
day  he  made  reg'lar  trips  back  and  forth  from 
the  postoffice,  lookin'  at  nobody,  speakin'  to 
nobody.  Mrs.  Pedders  held  her  usual  fall  and 
spring  openin's  of  freak  millinery,  while  Luella 
taught  in  the  fourth  grade  of  the  grammar 
school  and  gave  a  few  piano  lessons  on  the  side. 
They  didn't  act  like  a  fam'ly  that  had  buried 
treasure. 

But  what  had  he  done  with  that  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand?  How  could  he  have  blown  so 
much  without  even  acquirin'  a  toddy  blossom? 
Or  had  he  scattered  it  in  the  good  old  way, 
buckin'  Wall  Street?  But  he'd  never  seemed 
like  that  kind.  No,  they  didn't  think  he  had 
the  nerve  to  take  a  chance  on  a  turkey  raffle. 
So  that  left  the  mystery  deeper 'n  ever. 

"  No  chance  of  him  bein'  not  guilty  to  begin 
with,  eh?  "  I  suggests. 

J.  Bayard  smiles  cynical.  "  So  far  as  I  am 
able  to  learn,"  says  he,  "  there  is  just  one  per- 
son, aside  from  Mrs.  Pedders  and  her  daughter, 
who  believes  him  innocent.  Strangely  enough 
too,  that's  Norris,  who  was  teller  at  the  time. 
He's  president  of  the  bank  now.  I  had  a  talk 
with  him  this  morning.  He  insists  that  Ped- 
ders was  too  honest  to  touch  a  dollar;  says  he 


42      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

knew  him  too  well.  But  he  offers  no  explana- 
tion as  to  where  the  securities  went.  So  there 
you  are !  Everyone  else  regards  him  as  a  con- 
victed thief,  who  scarcely  got  his  just  deserts. 
He's  a  social  outcast,  and  a  broken,  spiritless 
wretch  besides.  How  can  I  do  anything  kind 
and  generous  for  such  a  man  I  ' 

Well,  I  didn't  know  any  more'n  he  did. 
"  What  gets  me,"  I  goes  on,  "  is  how  he  ever 
come  to  be  mixed  up  with  Pyramid  Gordon. 
Got  that  traced  out?  " 

"  I  sounded  Norris  on  that  point,"  says 
Steele;  "  but  he'd  never  heard  of  Gordon's  hav- 
ing been  in  Tullington,  and  was  sure  Pedders 
didn't  know  him." 

11  Then  you  ain't  had  a  talk  with  Pedders 
himself?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,  no,"  says  J.  Bayard,  shruggin'  his 
shoulders  scornful.  "  The  poor  devil!  I  didn't 
see  what  good  it  would  do — an  ex-convict, 
and " 

"  You  can't  always  be  dealin'  with  Twom- 
bley-Cranes,"  I  breaks  in.  "  And  it's  Pedders 
you're  after  this  trip.  Come  on.  Let's  go 
tackle  him." 

"  What !  Now?  "  says  Steele,  liftin'  his  eye- 
brows. 

"  Ah,  you  ain't  plannin'  to  spend  the  sum- 
mer here,  are  you?  "  says  I.  "  Besides,  it'll  do 
you  good  to  learn  not  to  shy  at  a  man  just  be- 
cause he's  done  time.  Show  us  the  house." 

I  could  have  put  it  even  stronger  to  him,  if 


43 

I'd  wanted  to  rub  it  in.  Had  about  as  much 
sympathy  for  a  down-and-out,  Steele  did,  as 
you'd  find  milk  in  a  turnip.  You  should  see  the 
finicky  airs  he  puts  on  as  he  follows  me  into 
the  Pedders  cottage,  and  sniffs  at  the  worn, 
old-fashioned  furniture  in  the  sittin*  room. 

It's  Mrs.  Pedders  that  comes  in  from  the 
shop  to  greet  us.  Must  have  been  quite  a  good 
looker  once,  from  the  fine  face  and  the  still 
slim  figure.  But  her  hair  has  been  frosted  up 
pretty  well,  and  there's  plenty  of  trouble  lines 
around  the  eyes.  No,  we  couldn't  see  Mr.  Ped- 
ders. She  was  sorry,  but  he  didn't  see  anyone. 
If  there  was  any  business,  perhaps  she 
could 

"  Maybe  you  can,"  says  I;  "  although  it 
ain't  exactly  business,  either.  It's  a  delayed 
boost  we're  agents  for;  friendly,  and  all  that." 

"  I — I  don't  believe  I  understand,"  says  she. 

''We'll  get  to  that  later  on,"  says  I,  "if 
you'll  take  our  word  and  help.  What  we're 
tryin'  to  get  a  line  on  first  off  is  where  and  how 
Mr.  Pedders  run  against  Pyramid  Gordon." 

"  Gordon?  "  says  she.  "  I  don't  think  I 
ever  heard  him  mention  the  name." 

"  Think  'way  back,  then,"  says  I,  "  back  be- 
fore he  was — before  he  had  his  trouble." 

She  tried,  but  couldn't  dig  it  up.  We  was 
still  on  the  subject  when  in  floats  Daughter. 
She's  one  of  these  nice,  sweet,  sensible  lookin' 
girls,  almost  vergin'  on  the  old  maid.  She'd 
just  come  home  from  her  school.  The  case  was 


44      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

explained  to  her;  but  she  don't  remember 
hearin'  the  name  either. 

"  You  see,  I  was  only  nine  at  the  time,"  says 
she,  "  and  there  was  so  much  going  on,  and 
Papa  was  so  upset  about  all  those  letters." 

11  Which  letters?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  the  people  who  wrote  to  him  during 
the  trial,"  says  she.  "  You've  no  idea — hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  letters,  from  all  over 
the  country;  from  strangers,  you  know,  who'd 
read  that  he  was — well,  an  absconder.  They 
were  awful  letters.  I  think  that's  what  hurt 
Papa  most,  that  people  were  so  ready  to  con- 
demn him  before  he'd  had  a  chance  to  show 
that  he  didn't  do  it.  He  would  just  sit  at  his 
old  desk  there  by  the  hour,  reading  them  over, 
and  everyone  seemed  like  another  pound  loaded 
on  his  poor  shoulders.  The  letters  kept  coming 
long  after  he  was  sent  away.  There's  a  whole 
boxful  in  the  garret  that  have  never  been 
opened." 

' '  And  he  never  shall  see  them !  ' '  announced 
Mrs.  Pedders  emphatic. 

' '  H-m-m-m !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  A  whole  boxful  that 
nobody's  opened?  But  suppose  now  that  some 
of  'em  wa'n't — say,  why  not  take  a  look  at  the 
lot,  just  the  outsides?  " 

Neither  Mrs.  Pedders  nor  Luella  took  kind 
to  that  proposition;  but  somehow  I  had  a 
vague  hunch  it  ought  to  be  done.  I  couldn't  say 
exactly  why,  either.  But  I  kept  urgin'  and 
arguin',  and  at  last  they  gave  in.  They'd  show 


PEEKING  IN  ON  PEDDERS          45 

me  the  outsides,  anyway;  that  is,  Luella  might, 
if  she  wanted  to.  Mrs.  Pedders  didn't  even 
want  to  see  the  box. 

"  I  meant  to  have  burned  them  long  ago," 
says  she.  "  They're  just  letters  from  idle, 
cruel  people,  that's  all.  And  you  don't  know 
how  many  such  there  are  in  the  world,  Mr.  Mc- 
Cabe.  I  hope  you  never  will  know.  But  go  up 
with  Luella  if  you  wish." 

So  we  did,  J.  Bayard  glancin'  suspicious  at 
the  dust  and  cobwebs  and  protectin'  his  silk 
hat  and  clothes  cautiously.  It's  a  good-sized 
box  too,  with  a  staple  and  padlock  to  keep  the 
cover  down.  Luella  hunted  up  the  key  and 
handed  out  bunch  after  bunch.  Why  do  people 
want  to  write  to  parties  they've  read  about  in 
the  newspapers?  What's  the  good  too,  of 
jumpin'  on  bank  wreckers  and  such  at  long 
range?  Why,  some  even  let  their  spite  slop 
over  on  the  envelopes.  To  see  such  a  lot  of 
letters,  and  think  how  many  hard  thoughts  they 
stood  for,  almost  gave  you  chills  on  the  spine. 

Didn't  seem  to  do  much  good  to  paw  'em 
over  now,  at  this  late  date,  either.  I  was  almost 
givin'  up  my  notion  and  tellin'  Luella  that 
would  be  about  enough,  when  I  noticed  a  long 
yellow  document  envelope  stowed  away  by  it- 
self in  a  corner. 

"  There's  a  fat  one,"  says  I. 

She  hands  it  out  mechanical,  as  she'd  done 
the  rest. 

"Hello!"   says  I,  glancin '   at  the  corner. 


46      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"Gordon  &  Co.,  Broad  Street,  New  York! 
Why,  say,  that's  the  Pyramid  Gordon  I  was 
askin'  about." 

"  Is  it?  "  says  she.    "  I  hadn't  noticed." 

"  Might  give  us  some  clew,"  I  goes  on,  "  as 
to  what  him  and  your  Paw  had  a  run-in  about." 

' '  Well,  open  it,  if  you  like, ' '  says  Luella  care- 
less. 

J.  Bayard  and  I  takes  it  over  to  the  window 
and  inspects  the  cancel  date. 

"  June,  1894,"  says  I.  "  Twenty-eight  cents 
postage;  registered  too.  Quite  a  package. 
Well,  here  goes!  " 

"  Bonds,"  says  Steele,  takin'  a  look.  "  That 
old  Water  Level  Development  Company's  too." 

"  And  here's  a  note  inside,"  says  I.  "  Read 
it." 

It  was  to  John  Wesley  Pedders,  cashier  of 
the  Merchants'  Exchange  Bank,  from  Mr.  Gor- 
don. "  In  depositing  securities  for  a  loan,  on 
my  recent  visit  to  your  bank,"  it  runs  on,  "  I 
found  I  had  brought  the  wrong  set;  so  I  took 
the  liberty,  without  consulting  your  president, 
of  substituting,  for  a  few  days,  a  bundle  of 
blanks.  I  am  now  sending  by  registered  mail 
the  proper  bonds,  which  you  may  file.  Trust- 
ing this  slight  delay  has  caused  you  no  incon- 
venience, I  am " 

"  The  old  fox!  "  cuts  in  J.  Bayard.  "  A  fair 
sample  of  his  methods !  Had  to  have  a  loan  on 
those  securities,  and  wanted  to  use  them  some- 
where else  at  the  same  time;  so  he  picked 


PEEKING  IN  ON  PEDDEKS          47 

out  this  little  country  bank  to  work  the  deal 
through.  Oh,  that  was  Pyramid  Gordon,  every 
time !  And  calmly  allowed  a  poor  cashier  to  go 
to  State's  prison  for  it!  '; 

"  Not  Pyramid,"  says  I.  "I  don't  believe 
he  ever  heard  a  word  of  the  trouble." 

"  Then  why  did  he  put  Pedders'  name  on  Ms 
list?  "  demands  Steele. 

"  Maybe  he  thought  sendin'  on  the  bonds 
would  clear  up  the  mess,"  says  I.  "  So  it 
would,  if  they  hadn't  come  a  day  or  two  late 
and  got  stowed  away  here.  And  here  they've 
been  for  twenty  years !  ' ' 

"  Yes,  and  quite  as  valuable  to  the  bank  as  if 
they'd  been  in  the  vaults,"  sneers  J.  Bayard. 
' '  That  Water  Level  stock  never  was  worth  the 
paper  it  was  printed  on,  any  more  than  it  is 
now. ' ' 

"  "We'll  make  it  useful,  then,"  says  I. 
"  Why,  it's  got  Aladdin's  lamp  beat  four  ways 
for  Wednesday!  These  bonds  go  to  Pedders. 
Then  Pedders  shaves  off  his  whiskers,  puts  on 
his  Sunday  suit,  braces  his  shoulders  back, 
walks  down  to  the  bank,  and  chucks  this  bunch 
of  securities  at  'em  triumphant." 

"  But  if  the  bank  is  still  out  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand,"  objects  Steele,  "  I  don't  see 
how " 

"  They  ain't  out  a  cent,"  says  I.  "  We'll 
find  a  customer  for  these  bonds." 

"Who?  "  says  he. 

"  J.  Bayard  Steele,"  says  I.     "Ain't  you 


48      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

actin'  for  a  certain  party  that  would  have 
wanted  it  done?  " 

"  By  Jove!  "  says  he.  "  Shorty,  you've  hit 
it!  Why,  I'd  never  have  thought  of " 

"  No,"  says  I;  "  you're  still  seein'  only  that 
twenty  per  cent,  commission.  Well,  you  get 
that.  But  I  want  to  see  the  look  in  Mrs.  Ped- 
ders'  eyes  when  she  hears  the  news." 

Say,  it  was  worth  makin'  a  way  train  trip  to 
Tullington,  believe  me ! 

11  I  knew,"  says  she.  "  Oh,  I  always  have 
known  John  didn  't  do  it !  And  now  others  will 
know.  Oh,  I'm  glad,  so  glad!  " 

Even  brought  a  slight  dew  to  them  shifty 
eyes  of  J.  Bayard's,  that  little  scene  did.  "  Mc- 
Cabe,"  says  he,  as  we  settles  ourselves  in  the 
night  express  headed  towards  Broadway,  "  this 
isn't  such  a  bad  game,  after  all,  is  it?  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

TWO   SINGLES   TO   GOOBEE 

"  SHORTY/'  says  Sadie,  hangin'  up  the 
'phone  and  turnin'  to  me  excited,  "  what  do 
you  think  1  Young  Hollister  is  back  in  town !  ' ' 

"  So  are  lots  of  other  folks,"  says  I,  "  and 
more  comin'  every  day." 

"  But  you  know  he  promised  to  stay  away," 
she  goes  on,  "  and  his  mother  will  feel  dread- 
fully about  it  when  she  hears." 

"  I  know,"  says  I.  "  And  a  livelier  widow 
never  hailed  from  Peachtree  street,  Atlanta; 
which  is  sayin'  a  lot.  Who  sends  in  this  bul- 
letin about  Sonny?  " 

"  Purdy-Pell,"  says  Sadie,  "  and  he  doesn't 
know  what  to  do." 

11  Never  does,"  says  I. 

Sadie  flickers  a  grin.  "  It  seems  Eobin  came 
two  days  ago,  and  has  hardly  been  seen  about 
the  house  since.  Besides,  Purdy-Pell  could  do 
nothing  with  him  when  he  was  here  before,  you 
remember." 

"  Awful  state  of  things,  ain't  it?  "  says  I. 
"  The  youngster's  all  of  nineteen,  ain't  he!  " 

"  He's  nearly  twenty-one,"  says  Sadie. 
11  And  Mrs.  Hollister 's  such  a  dear!  " 

49 


50      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  All  of  which  leads  up  to  what?  "  says  I, 
tearin'  my  eyes  from  the  sportin'  page  reluc- 
tant. 

"  Why,"  says  Sadie,  cuddlin'  up  on  the  chair 
arm,  "  Purdy-Pell  suggests  that,  as  Robin  ap- 
peared to  take  such  a  fancy  to  you,  perhaps  you 
wouldn't  mind " 

"  Say,"  I  breaks  in,  "  he's  a  perfectly  punk 
suggester!  I'd  mind  a  lot!  " 

Course  that  opened  the  debate,  and  while  I 
begins  by  statin'  flat-footed  that  Robin  could 
come  or  go  for  all  I  cared,  it  ends  in  the  usual 
compromise.  I  agrees  to  take  the  eight-forty- 
five  into  town  and  skirmish  for  Sonny.  He'd 
be  almost  sure  to  show  up  at  Purdy-Pell 's  to- 
night, Sadie  says,  and  if  I  was  on  hand  I  might 
induce  him  to  quit  wreckin'  the  city  and  be 
good. 

"  Shouldn't  I  wear  a  nurse's  cap  and 
apron?  "  I  remarks  as  I  grabs  my  hat. 

For,  honest,  so  far  as  I've  ever  seen,  this 
young  Hollister  was  a  nice,  quiet,  peaceable 
chap,  with  all  the  earmarks  of  a  perfect  gent. 
He'd  been  brought  up  from  the  South  and  put 
into  Purdy-Pell 's  offices,  and  he'd  made  a  fair 
stab  at  holdin'  down  his  job.  But  of  course, 
bein'  turned  loose  in  New  York  for  the  first 
time,  I  expect  he  went  out  now  and  then  to  see 
what  was  goin'  on  under  the  white  lights. 

From  some  youngsters  that  might  have  called 
for  such  panicky  protests  as  Mother  and  Mrs. 
Purdy-Pell  put  up;  but  young  Robin  had  a 


TWO  SINGLES  TO  GOOBER         51 

good  head  on  him,  and  didn't  act  like  he  meant 
to  develop  into  a  rounder.  Course  I  didn't  hear 
the  details ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  something  hap- 
pened that  caused  a  grand  howl.  I  know  Sadie 
was  consulted,  then  Mrs.  Hollister  was  sent  for, 
and  it  ended  by  Robin  mar  chin'  into  the  studio 
one  mornin'  to  say  good-by.  He  explains  that 
he's  bein'  shipped  home.  They'd  got  a  job  for 
him  with  an  uncle  out  in  the  country  some- 
where. That  must  have  been  a  year  or  so  ago, 
and  now  it  looked  like  he'd  slipped  his  halter 
and  had  headed  back  for  Broadway. 

I  finds  Purdy-Pell  peeved  and  sarcastic. 
"  To  be  sure,"  he  says,  "  I  feel  honored  that 
the  young  man  should  make  my  house  his  head- 
quarters whenever  his  fancy  leads  him  to  in- 
dulge his  sportive  instincts.  Youth  must  be 
served,  you  know.  But  Mrs.  Hollister  has  such 
a  charmingly  unreasonable  way  of  holding  me 
responsible  for  her  son's  conduct!  And  since 
she  happens  just  now  to  be  our  guest — well,  you 
get  the  idea,  McCabe." 

"  What  do  you  think  he's  up  to?  "  says  I. 

Purdy-Pell  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "If  he 
were  the  average  youth,  one  might  guess,"  says 
he;  "  but  Robin  Hollister  is  different.  His 
mother  is  a  Pitt  Medway,  one  of  the  Georgia 
Medways." 

"  You  don't  say!  "  says  I.  I  expect  I  ought 
to  know  just  how  a  Georgia  Medway  differs 
from  a  New  Jersey  Medway,  or  the  Connecti- 
cut brand;  but,  sad  to  say,  I  don't.  Purdy- 


52      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Pell,  though,  havin'  been  raised  in  the  South 
himself,  seems  to  think  that  everyone  ought  to 
know  the  traits  of  all  the  leadin'  f  am 'lies  be- 
tween the  Potomac  and  the  Chattahoochee. 

"  Last  time,  you  know,"  goes  on  Purdy-Pell, 
"  it  was  a  Miss  Maggie  Toots,  a  restaurant 
cashier,  and  a  perfectly  impossible  person.  We 
broke  that  up,  though." 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  I. 

"  Eobin's  mother  seemed  to  think  then," 
says  he,  "  that  it  was  largely  my  fault.  I 
suppose  she'll  feel  the  same  about  whatever 
mischief  he's  in  now.  If  I  could  only  find  the 
young  scamp!  But  really  I  haven't  time.  I'm 
an  hour  late  at  the  Boomer  Days'  as  it  is." 

"  Then  toddle  along,"  says  I.  "  If  I'm 
unanimously  elected  to  do  this  kid-reformin' 
act,  I  expect  I  might  as  well  get  busy. ' ' 

So  as  soon  as  the  butler's  through  loadin' 
Purdy-Pell  into  the  limousine  I  cross-examines 
Jarvis  about  young  Mr.  Hollister's  motions. 
Yes,  he'd  shown  up  at  the  house  both  nights. 
It  might  have  been  late,  perhaps  quite  late. 
Then  this  afternoon  he'd  'phoned  to  have  his 
evenin'  clothes  sent  uptown  by  messenger.  No, 
he  couldn't  remember  the  number,  or  the  name 
of  the  hotel. 

"  Ah,  come,  Jarvis!  "  says  I.  "  We  know 
you're  strong  for  the  young  man,  and  all  that. 
But  this  is  for  the  best.  Dig  it  up  now!  You 
must  have  put  the  number  down  at  the  time. 
Where's  the  'phone  pad?  " 


TWO  SINGLES  TO  GOOBEE         53 

He  produces  it,  blank.  "  You  see,  Sir,"  says 
he,  "  I  tore  off  the  leaf  and  gave  it  to  the  mes- 
senger." 

"  But  you're  a  heavy  writer,  ain't  you!  " 
says  I.  "  Find  me  a  readin'  glass." 

And,  sure  enough,  by  holdin'  the  pad  under 
the  big  electrolier  in  the  lib'ry,  we  could  trace 
out  the  address. 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  The  Maison  Maxixe,  one 
of  them  new  trot  palaces!  Ring  up  a  taxi, 
Jarvis. ' ' 

Didn't  happen  to  be  up  around  there  yourself 
that  night,  did  you?  If  you  had,  you  couldn't 
missed  seein'  him, — the  old  guy  with  the  Dixie 
lid  and  the  prophet's  beard,  and  the  snake- 
killer  staff  in  his  fist, — for  with  that  gold  and 
green  entrance  as  a  background,  and  in  all 
that  glare  of  electric  lights,  he  was  some  promi- 
nent. 

Sort  of  a  cross  between  Father  Time  and 
Santa  Glaus,  he  looks  like,  with  his  bumper  crop 
of  white  alfalfa,  his  rosy  cheeks,  and  his  husky 
build.  Also  he's  attired  in  a  wide-brimmed 
black  felt  hat,  considerable  dusty,  and  a  long 
black  coat  with  a  rip  in  the  shoulder  seam.  I 
heard  a  couple  of  squabs  just  ahead  of  me  gig- 
gle, and  one  of  'em  gasps : 

' '  Heavings,  Lulu !  Will  you  lamp  the  movie 
grandpop!  I  wonder  if  them  lambrequins  are 
real?  " 

She  says  it  loud  enough  to  be  heard  around 
on  Broadway,  and  I  looks  to  see  how  the  old  boy 


54      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

takes  it;  but  lie  keeps  right  on  beamin'  mild 
and  sort  of  curious  at  the  crowds  pushin'  in.  It 
was  them  calm,  gentle  old  blue  eyes  of  his, 
gazin'  steady,  like  he  was  lookin'  for  someone, 
that  caught  me.  First  thing,  I  knew  he  was 
smilin'  folksy  straight  at  me,  and  liftin'  one 
hand  hesitating  as  if  he  wanted  to  give  me  the 
hail. 

11  Well,  old  scout?  "  says  I,  haltin'  on  the 
first  step. 

11  Excuse  me,  Neighbor,"  says  he,  drawlin'  it 
out  deep  and  soft,  "  but  be  yo'  goin'  in 
thayah?  " 

"  I  don't  say  it  boastin',"  says  I,  "  but  that 
was  the  intention." 

"  We-e-e-ell,"  he  drawls,  half  chucklin',  half 
sing-songy,  "  I  wisht  I  could  get  you  to  kind 
of  look  around  for  a  young  fellah  in  thayah, — 
sort  of  a  well  favored,  upstandin'  young  man, 
straight  as  a  cornstalk,  and  with  his  front  haiah 
a  little  wavy.  Would  you?  ' 

' '  I  might  find  fifty  that  would  answer  to  that 
description,"  says  I. 

"  No,  Suh,  I  reckon  not,"  says  he,  waggin' 
his  noble  old  head.  "  Not  fifty  like  him,  nor 
one !  He  '11  have  his  chin  up,  Suh,  and  there  '11 
be  a  twinkle  in  his  brown  eyes  you  can't  mis- 
take." 

"  Maybe  so,"  says  I.  "I'll  scout  around  a 
bit.  And  if  I  find  him,  what  then?  " 

"  Jes'  give  him  the  word,  Neighbor,"  says 
he,  "  that  Uncle  Noah's  a  waitin'  outside, 


TWO  SINGLES  TO  GOOBEE         55 

wantin'  to  see  him  a  minute  when  he  gets 
through.  He'll  understand,  Eobin  will." 

"  Eh!  "  says  I.    "  Eobin  who!  " 

"  Young  Mistuh  Hollister  I  should  say, 
Suh,"  says  he. 

"Well,  well!"  says  I,  gawpin'  at  him. 
"  You  lookin'  for  Eobin  Hollister  too?  Why, 
so  am  I!  " 

"  Then  we  ought  to  find  him  between  us, 
hadn't  we?  "  says  he,  smilin'  friendly. 
"  Lott's  my  name,  Suh." 

"  Wha-a-at!  "  says  I,  grinnin'  broad  as  the 
combination  strikes  me.  "  Not  Uncle  Noah 
Lott?  " 

"It's  a  powerful  misleadin'  name,  I  got  to 
admit,"  says  he,  returnin'  the  grin;  "  but  I 
reckon  my  folks  didn't  figure  jes'  how  it  was 
goin'  to  sound  when  they  tacked  the  Noah  onto 
me,  or  else  they  didn't  allow  for  my  growin' 
up  so  simple.  But  I've  had  it  so  long  I'm  used 
to  it,  and  so  is  most  everyone  else  down  in  my 
part  of  Jawgy. ' ' 

"  Ah!  "  says  I.  "  Then  you're  from 
Georgia,  eh?  Down  where  they  sent  Eobin,  I 
expect?  " 

"  That's  right,"  says  he.  "I'm  from 
Goober." 

"  Goober!  "  I  echoes.  "  Say,  that's  a  choice 
one  too!  No  wonder  Eobin  couldn't  stand  it! 
Sent  you  up  to  fetch  him  back,  did  they?  ' 

"  No,  Suh,"  says  he.  "  Mistuh  Phil  Hollis- 
ter didn't  send  me  at  all.  I  jes'  come,  Suh,  and 


56      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

I  can't  say  if  I'm  goin'  to  carry  him  back  or 
no.  You  see  it's  like  this:  Robin,  he's  a  good 
boy.  We  set  a  heap  by  him,  we  do.  And  Robin 
was  doin'  well,  keepin'  the  bale  books,  lookin' 
after  the  weighin',  and  takin'  general  charge 
around  the  cotton  gin.  Always  had  a  good 
word  for  me  in  the  mornin'  when  I  hands  over 
the  keys,  me  bein'  night  watchman,  Suh. 
'  Well,  Uncle  Noah,'  it  would  be,  '  didn't  let 
anybody  steal  presses,  did  you?  '  *  No, 
Mistuh  Robin,'  I'd  say,  '  didn't  lose  nary  press 
last  night,  and  only  part  of  the  smokestack.' 
We  was  that  way,  me  and  Robin.  And  when 
Mistuh  Phil  and  his  folks  started  off  to  visit 
their  married  daughter,  up  in  Richmond,  he 
says  to  me,  '  Uncle  Noah,  I  expect  you  to  look 
after  Robin  while  I'm  gone,  and  see  that  he 
don't  git  into  no  trouble.'  Them  was  his  very 
words,  Suh." 

"  And  Robin's  kept  you  busy,  eh?  "  says  I. 

"  Well,  he's  a  good  boy,  Robin  is,"  insists 
Uncle  Noah.  "  I  reckon  it  took  him  sort  of 
sudden,  this  wantin'  to  leave  Goober.  Just  had 
to  come  to  New  York,  it  seems  like.  I  dunno 
what  for,  and  I  ain't  askin';  only  I  promised 
his  Uncle  Phil  I'd  see  he  didn't  git.  into  no 
trouble,  and — well,  I'm  a  waitin'  around,  you 
see,  waitin'  around." 

"  How'd  you  come  to  locate  him,  Uncle?  ' 
:says  I. 

"  We-e-ell/'  says  he,  "  I  reckon  I  shouldn't 
;a  done  it  nohow,  but  he  left  the  envelope  to  her 


TWO  SINGLES  TO  GOOBER         57 

letter  on  his  desk, — a  Miss  Toots  it  come  from, 
— and  the  address  was  on  the  back.  It  was  di- 
rectly afterwards  that  Robin  quits  Goober  so 
sudden." 

"  Ah-ha!  "  says  I.  "  Maggie  Toots  again, 
eh?  " 

Looked  like  the  myst'ry  was  solved  too,  and 
while  I  wa'n't  plannin'  to  restrict  any  inter- 
state romance,  or  throw  the  switch  on  love's 
young  dream,  I  thought  as  long  as  I'd  gone  this 
far  I  might  as  well  take  a  look. 

"  Maybe  he'll  be  too  busy  to  receive  any 
home  delegation  just  now, ' '  says  I ;  "  but  if  you 
want  to  stick  around  while  I  do  a  little  scoutin* 
inside,  Uncle,  I'll  be  out  after  a  bit." 

"  I'll  be  a  waitin',"  says  Uncle  Noah,  smilin' 
patient,  and  I  leaves  him  backed  up  against  the 
front  of  the  buildin'  with  his  hands  crossed 
peaceful  on  the  top  of  his  home-made  walkin' 
stick. 

It's  some  giddy  push  I  gets  into  after  I've 
put  up  my  dollar  for  a  ballroom  ticket  and 
crowded  in  where  a  twenty-piece  orchestra  was 
busy  with  the  toe-throbby  stuff.  And  there's 
such  a  mob  on  the  floor  and  along  the  side  lines 
that  pickin'  out  one  particular  young  gent 
seems  like  a  hopeless  job. 

I  drifts  around,  though,  elbowin'  in  and  out, 
gettin'  glared  at  by  fat  old  dames,  and  bein* 
bumped  by  tangoin'  couples,  until  I  finds  a  spot 
in  a  corner  where  I  could  hang  up  and  have  a 
fair  view.  About  then  someone  blows  a  whistle, 


58      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

and  out  on  the  platform  in  front  of  the  or- 
chestra appears  a  tall,  bullet-headed,  pimple- 
faced  young  gent,  wearin'  white  spats  with  his 
frock-coat  costume,  and  leadin'  by  the  hand  a 
zippy  young  lady  who 's  attired  mostly  in  black 
net  and  a  pair  of  gauze  wings  growin'  out  be- 
tween her  shoulder  blades.  It's  announced  that 
they  will  do  a  fancy  hesitation. 

Take  it  from  me,  I  never  saw  it  danced  like 
that  before!  It  was  more'n  a  dance:  it  was  an 
acrobatic  act,  an  assault  with  intent  to  maim, 
and  other  things  we  won't  talk  about.  The 
careless  way  that  young  sport  tossed  around 
this  party  with  the  gauze  wings  was  enough  to 
make  you  wonder  what  .was  happenin '  to  her 
wishbone.  First  he'd  swing  her  round  with  her 
head  bent  back  until  her  barrette  almost 
scraped  the  floor;  then  he'd  yank  her  up,  toss 
her  in  the  air,  and  let  her  trickle  graceful  down 
his  shirt  front,  like  he  was  a  human  stair  rail. 
Next,  as  the  music  hit  the  high  spots,  they'd  go 
to  a  close  clinch,  and  whirl  and  dip  and  pivot 
until  she  breaks  loose,  takes  a  flyin'  leap,  and 
lands  shoulder  high  in  his  hands,  while  he  walks 
around  with  her  like  she  was  something  he  was 
bringin'  in  on  a  tray. 

The  hesitation,  eh?  Say,  that's  what  Mrs. 
McCabe  has  been  at  me  to  take  lessons  in.  I 
can  see  myself,  with  Sadie  tippin'  the  scales  at 
one  hundred  and  sixty-eight!  But  when  I  go 
home  to-night  I'll  agree  to  try  it  if  she's  willin' 
to  have  her  spine  removed  first. 


TWO  SINGLES  TO  GOOBER         59 

The  young  lady  in  black,  though,  don't  seem 
to  mind.  She  bows  smilin'  at  the  finish,  and 
then  trips  off  with  Pimple  Face,  lookin'  whole 
and  happy.  I  was  watchin'  'em  as  they  made 
their  way  out  towards  the  front.  Seemed  to  be 
gen'ral  fav 'rites  with  the  crowd,  for  they  were 
swappin'  hails  right  and  left,  and  she  was 
makin'  dates  for  the  next  ground  and  lofty  num- 
ber, I  expect;  when  all  of  a  sudden  they're 
stopped  by  someone,  there's  a  brief  but  breezy 
little  argument,  and  I  hears  a  soft  thud  that 
listens  like  a  short  arm  jab  bein'  nestled  up 
against  a  jawbone.  And  there's  Pimple  Face 
doin'  a  back  flip  that  ain't  in  his  repertoire  at 
all. 

Course  that  spilled  the  beans.  There  was 
squeals,  and  shrieks,  and  a  gen'ral  mixup;  some 
tryin'  to  get  closer,  others  beatin'  it  to  get 
away,  and  all  the  makin 's  of  a  young  riot.  But 
the  management  at  the  Maison  Maxixe  don't 
stand  for  any  rough  stuff.  In  less  than  a  min- 
ute a  bunch  of  house  detectives  was  on  the 
spot,  the  young  hesitationer  was  whisked  into  a 
cloakroom,  and  the  other  gent  was  bein'  shot 
towards  the  fresh  air. 

Just  a  glimpse  that  I  caught  of  his  flushed 
face  as  it  was  bein'  tucked  under  a  bouncer's 
arm  set  me  in  action.  I  made  a  break  for  a 
side  exit;  but  there's  such  a  jam  everywhere 
that  it's  two  or  three  minutes  before  I  can  get 
around  to  the  front. 

And  there's  young  Hollister,  with  an  end  of 


60      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Ms  dress  collar  draped  jaunty  over  his  right 
ear,  tryin'  to  kick  the  belt  buckle  off  a  two- 
hundred-pound  cop  who's  holdin'  him  at  arm's 
length  with  one  hand  and  rappin'  his  night- 
stick for  help  with  the  other;  while  Uncle  Noah 
stands  one  side,  starin'  some  disturbed  at  the 
spectacle.  I  knew  that  was  no  time  to  butt  in ! 

In  that  section  of  the  White  Light  district 
too  you  can  call  up  plenty  of  help  by  a  few  taps 
from  the  locust.  Cops  came  on  the  jump  from 
two  adjoinin'  posts, — big  husky  Broadway 
cops, — and  they  swoops  down  on  young  Robin 
like  a  bunch  of  Rockefeller  deacons  on  a  Ferrer 
school  graduate  who  rises  in  prayer  meetin'  to 
ask  the  latest  news  from  Paint  Creek. 

* '  What  you  got,  Jim  ?  ' '  puffs  one. 

"  Young  hick  that  got  messy  in  the  tango 
joint,"  says  Jim. 

"  Ah,  fan  him  a  few!  "  remarks  the  other. 
"  Hold  him  still  now  while  I " 

At  which  Uncle  Noah  pushes  in  and  holds  up 
a  protestin'  hand.  "  Now  see  heah,  Mistuh 
Constable,"  says  he,  "  I  wouldn't  go  for  to  do 
anything  like  that !  ' ' 

"  Wha-a-at?  "  snarls  the  copper.  "  Say,  you 
old  billy-goat,  beat  it !  "  And  he  proceeds  to 
clip  young  Mr.  Hollister  a  glancin'  blow  on  the 
side  of  the  head.  His  next  aim  was  better ;  but 
this  time  the  nightstick  didn't  connect. 

There's  been  let  loose  a  weird,  high-pitched 
howl,  which  I  didn't  recognize  at  the  time  as  the 
old  Rebel  yell,  but  know  now  that  it  was.  Uncle 


Noah  had  gone  into  action.  That  walkin'  stick 
of  his  was  a  second-growth  hickory  club  as  thick 
as  your  wrist  at  the  big  end.  He  swung  it  quick 
and  accurate,  and  if  that  cop  ain't  nursin'  a 
broken  forearm  to-day  he's  lucky.  I  expect  his 
dome  was  solid  iv'ry, — most  of  them  sluggers 
have  that  kind, — and  in  this  case  he  needed  it; 
for,  once  he  gets  goin',  Uncle  Noah  makes  a 
thorough  job  of  it.  He  lands  his  next  swipe 
square  on  the  copper's  head  and  tumbles  him 
to  the  sidewalk  like  a  bag  of  meal.  The  other 
two  was  at  him  with  their  clubs  by  this  time^ 
swingin'  on  him  vicious;  but  somehow  they 
couldn't  get  in  anything  but  body  blows  that 
echoed  on  Uncle  Noah's  ribs  like  thumpin'  a 
barrel.  Must  have  been  a  tough  old  boy;  for 
that  never  fazed  him.  And  the  crowd,  that  was 
a  block  deep  by  this  time,  seemed  to  be  right 
with  him. 

' '  Slug  the  clubbers !  ' '  they  yelled.  ' '  Knock 
their  blocks  off !  Go  to  it,  old  man !  ' ' 

He  didn't  need  that  to  encourage  him;  for  he 
wades  in  lively,  raps  first  one  head  and  then  the 
other,  until  he  had  'em  all  three  on  the  pave- 
ment. That  set  the  crowd  wild. 

"  Now  sneak  while  the  sneakin's  good,  old 
top!  "  shouts  one. 

"  Jump  a  cab!  "  sings  out  another. 

Say,  the  idea  that  either  of  'em  might  get  out 
of  this  muss  without  goin'  to  the  station  house 
hadn't  occurred  to  me  before.  But  here  was  a 
taxi,  jam  up  against  the  curb  not  a  dozen  feet 


62      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

off,  with  the  chauffeur  swingin'  his  cap  en- 
thusiastic. 

11  Quick,  Uncle!  "  says  I,  gettin'  him  by  the 
arm.  "  It's  your  one  chance.  You  too,  Eobin. 
But  show  some  speed  about  it.'* 

At  that,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  half  a  dozen 
chaps  in  the  front  row  of  the  crowd  that  helped 
me  shove  'em  in,  and  the  others  that  blocked 
off  the  groggy  coppers  who  were  wabblin'  to 
their  feet,  we  couldn't  have  pulled  it  off.  But 
we  piled  'em  in,  I  gave  the  cabby  the  Purdy- 
Pells'  street  number,  and  away  they  was 
whirled.  And  you  can  bet  I  didn't  linger 
in  front  of  the  Maison  Maxixe  long  after 
that. 

Twenty  minutes  later  we  had  a  little  reunion 
in  the  Purdy-Pell  lib'ry.  Eobin  was  holdin' 
some  cracked  ice  to  a  lump  on  his  forehead,  and 
Uncle  Noah  was  sittin'  uncomf 'table  on  the 
edge  of  a  big  leather  chair. 

"  How  cheery!  "  says  I.  "  But  take  it  from 
me,  Uncle,  you're  some  two-fisted  scrapper  1  I 
didn't  think  it  was  in  you." 

"  We-e-ell,"  he  drawls  out,  still  breathin' 
a  bit  hard,  but  gettin'  back  his  gentle  smile,  "  I 
didn't  want  to  do  no  fursin'  with  them  con- 
stables; but  you  know  Mistuh  Phil  he  told  me 
to  see  that  Robin  didn't  git  into  no  trouble,  and 
— and — we-e-ell,  I  didn't  care  for  their  motions 
none  at  all,  I  didn't.  So  I  jes'  had  to  tap  'em  a 
little." 

"  Tappin'  is  good!"  says  I.     "  And  how 


f 

IE 

a  < 

D  O 

H   O 


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3 


£ 

c 

fe 


TWO  SINGLES  TO  GOOBEE         63 

about  you,  Robin?     How  do  you  come  to  be 
mixin7  it  up  so  conspicuous?  " 

11  I'm  sorry,"  says  he.  "  I  suppose  I  made 
an  awful  ass  of  myself.  But  even  if  she  is  a 
public  dancer,  that  snipe  shouldn't  have  in- 
sulted her.  Of  course  I'd  found  out  long  before 
that  Miss  Toots  was  no  longer  anything  to  me  ; 


"  Then  that  was  the  famous  Maggie, 
it?  "  I  breaks  in.    "  The  one  that  lured  you  up 
from  Dixie?  " 

"  Not  exactly  a  lure,"  says  he.  "  She  didn't 
think  I'd  be  chump  enough  to  come.  But  that's 
all  off  now." 

11  I  ain't  curious,"  says  I,  "  but  the  fam'ly 
has  sort  of  delegated  me  to  keep  track  of  your 
moves.  What's  next,  if  you  know?  ' 

Robin  shrugs  his  shoulders  sort  of  listless. 
"  I  don't  know,"  says  he.  Then  he  turns  to 
Uncle  Noah,  "  Uncle,"  says  he,  "  how  will 
those  scuppernongs  be  about  now  on  the  big 
arbor  in  front  of  Uncle  Phil's?  " 

"  Bless  you,  Mistuh  Robin,"  says  old  Noah, 
"  they'll  be  dead  ripe  by  now,  and  there's  jes' 
doodlins  of  'em.  Miss  Peggy  Culpepper,  she'll 
be  mighty  lonesome,  a  pickin'  of  'em  all  by  her- 
self.*" 

"  Humph!  "  says  Robin,  tintin'  up.  "  Think 
so,  do  you?  " 

"  I  don't  have  to  think,  Mistuh  Robin,"  says 
Uncle  Noah.  "  Miss  Peggy  told  me  that  her- 
self the  mornm'  I  come  away." 


64      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Young  Mr.  Hollister  gazes  earnest  into 
them  gentle  old  blue  eyes  for  a  second,  then  he 
takes  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  lib  'ry,  and 
fin'lly  claps  Uncle  Noah  on  the  shoulder. 
"  I've  been  waiting  all  summer  for  a  taste  of 
those  grapes,"  says  he.  "  Come,  we  can  just 
catch  the  midnight.  I've  had  enough  of  Broad- 
way to  last  me  for  a  long  time." 

And  my  partin'  glimpse  of  'em  was  at  eleven- 
fifty-six,  when  they  pushed  through  the  gate 
bound  for  Goober,  Georgia. 

1 1  After  all, ' '  thinks  I,  ' '  it  may  not  be  so  bad 
as  it  sounds." 


CHAPTER  V 

\ 

THE   CASE   OF   A  FEMALE   PAETY 

You  know  how  free  this  J.  Bayard  Steele  has 
been  in  callin'  on  me  for  help  in  puttin'  over  his 
little  deeds  of  kindness,  at  so 'much  per  deed? 
Well,  here  the  other  day  he  shows  up  at  the 
studio  with  sealed  envelope  No.  3  in  his  pocket, 
and  after  springin'  his  usual  guff  about  the 
door  of  fate  he  opens  it. 

"  Well,  who's  the  party  of  the  second  part 
this  time?  "  says  I. 

But  he  just  gazes  at  the  slip  of  paper  he's 
taken  out  and  smiles  mushy. 

"  All  right,"  says  I.  "  Keep  it  to  yourself. 
This  is  my  busy  day,  anyway." 

"  Pardon  me,  McCabe,"  says  he.  "I  was 
lost  in  wonder  at  the  varied  character  of  the 
persons  whom  the  late  Pyramid  Gordon  num- 
bered on  his  conscience  list.  This  time  it  is  a 
lady." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Didn't  know  Pyramid 
ever  had  any  skirt  complications." 

"  From  Adam  down  has  any  man  escaped?  ' 
says  J.  Bayard,  wavin'  his  cigarette  jaunty. 
"  No,  your  friend  Gordon  was  no  wiser  than 
the  rest  of  us,  as  this  shows.    Hearken  to  the 
name — Josie  Vernon !  ' ' 

65 


66      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  That  does  listen  flossy,"  says  I.  "  But  I 
never  heard  him  mention  any  Josie  as  long  as 
I  knew  him.  Any  details  f  ' ' 

"  There's  an  address,"  says  J.  Bayard, 
"  and  in  one  corner  is  written,  l  Mrs.  Fletcher 
Shaw. '  Probably  a  friend,  or  next  of  kin.  Ah, 
but  this  is  something  like !  Knight-errantry  for 
the  fair  sex !  Here,  McCabe,  is  where  I  shine !  ' 

"  You  do,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Think  you  can 
handle  this  case" all  by  your  lonesome?  " 

Did  he?  Why,  to  see  him  turkeyin'  round, 
glancin'  at  himself  approvin'  in  the  mirror, 
and  pattin'  them  Grand  Duke  whiskers  of  his 
into  shape,  you'd  think  he  had  some  matinee 
idol  as  an  understudy.  Oh,  yes,  he  rather 
fancied  he  understood  women,  knew  how  to 
handle  'em,  and  all  that.  He  would  look  up 
Josie  Vernon  at  once,  find  out  what  had  been 
the  trouble  between  her  and  Pyramid,  and  de- 
cide on  some  kind  and  generous  way  of  evenin' 
the  score,  accordin'  to  the  terms  of  Mr.  Gor- 
don's will. 

"  And  in  this  instance,  Shorty,"  says  he,  "  I 
shall  probably  not  be  compelled  to  trouble  you 
at  all  until  I  submit  my  plans  for  your  indorse- 
ment. Now  I'm  off.  The  ladies,  bless  'em!  r 
and  he  winks  giddy  as  he  trips  through  the 
door. 

Ain't  they  the  nutty  ones,  these  old  cut-ups? 
Look  at  Steele  now, — in  the  late  fifties,  but  just 
at  the  mention  of  a  name  like  Josie  Vernon  he 
gets  kittenish! 


THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PAETY    67 

Well,  it's  nothin'  to  me,  and  I'm  glad  to  duck 
any  dealin's  with  stray  dames;  for  when  it 
comes  to  the  surprisin'  sex  you  never  know 
what  you're  goin'  to  be  let  in  for.  Besides,  my 
part  of  his  executor  game  was  only  to  O.K.  J. 
Bayard's  final  schemes  and  see  that  he  spent 
the  money  somewhere  near  the  way  I  judged' 
Pyramid  meant  to  have  it  distributed.  Course, 
I  hadn't  been  able  to  stick  to  that  very  strict  in 
the  first  two  cases;  but  this  time  it  looked  like 
I  would. 

So  by  the  next  afternoon,  havin'  been  busy 
in  the  gym  since  nine  A.M.,  I'd  forgotten  the  in- 
cident complete,  and  I'm  some  surprised  when 
Swifty  Joe  announces  that  there's  a  female 
party  askin'  for  me  in  the  front  office. 

"  Wha'  d'ye  mean — female  party?  "  says  I. 
"Is  it  a  lady?  " 

* '  Ah-r-r-r  chee !  ' '  says  Swifty.  l '  How  do  I 
know?  " 

That's  some  surprisin'  too;  for  as  a  rule  he 
ain't  strong  on  drawin'  fine  distinctions.  If 
they're  young  and  flossy  dressed,  he  calls 
'em  "  fluffs  ";  but  anything  over  twenty-five, 
no  matter  how  she's  costumed,  is  a  lady 
to  Swifty,  even  a  scrubwoman.  So  his  de- 
scribin'  this  visitor  as  a  female  party  gets  me 
curious. 

The  minute  I  steps  into  the  office  and  gets  a 
glimpse  at  her,  though,  I  got  Swifty 's  point  of 
view.  The  battered  old  lid  had  been  gay  enough 
once,  a  few  seasons  back,  when  the  willow  plume 


68      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

hadn't  been  dislocated  in  four  places,  and  be- 
fore the  velvet  trimmin'  had  faded  into  so 
many  differ 'nt  shades.  It  had  been  a  lady's 
hat  once.  And  the  face  tinder  it,  in  spite  of  the 
red  tip  to  the  nose  and  the  puffs  under  the  eyes, 
might  have  belonged  to  a  lady.  Anyway,  there 
was  traces  of  good  looks  there.  But  the  rusty 
black  cloak  that  hung  limp  over  the  sagged 
shoulders,  only  part  hidin'  the  sloppy  shirt 
waist  and  reachin'  but  halfway  down  the  side- 
hiked,  draggled-edge  skirt — that's  the  sure 
mark  of  a  female  party.  I  don 't  know  why,  but 
it  is. 

Where  they  get  cloaks  like  that  is  a  mystery. 
You  see  'em  on  women  panhandlers,  on  the  old 
hags  that  camp  on  park  benches,  and  in  the 
jag  line  at  police  courts.  But  you  never  see 
a  new  one.  Perhaps  they're  made  special 
by  second-hand  shops  for  the  female  party 
trade. 

"  Well?  "  says  I,  lookin'  her  over  cold  and 
curious. 

But  you  can't  faze  a  female  party  so  simple. 
They're  used  to  that.  She  stares  back  at  me 
just  as  cool,  and  then  remarks,  "  I  guess  you 
know  who  I  am  well  enough. ' ' 

"  Sure!  "  says  I.  "  You're  the  long  lost 
Duchess  of  Gainsborough,  ain't  you!  ' 

She  just  gazes  at  me  brassy  and  shakes  her 
head. 

"  Then  you  must  be  a  lady  snake  agent," 
I. 


THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PARTY  69 

"  What?  "  says  she,  scowlin'  puzzled. 

"  I  don't  know  the  answer,  either,"  says 
I.  "  Called  for  Professor  McCabe,  didn't 
you?  Well,  you're  connected.  Shoot  the  rest 
of  it." 

''I'm  Mrs.  Fletcher  Shaw,"  says  she. 

And  for  a  minute  there  I  couldn't  place  the 
name.  Then  it  came  to  me.  "  Oh!  "  says  I. 
"  Some  relation  of  Josie  Vernon's,  eh?  " 

"  Suppose  I  am?  "  she  demands,  eyin'  me 
suspicious. 

"  Tut,  tut,  now!  "  says  I.  "  You're  the  one 
that's  occupyin'  the  witness  stand,  you  know. 
You  were  about  to  tell  why  you  came. ' ' 

"  Was  I?  "  says  she.  "  You  might  guess 
that:  you've  had  a  man  pryin'  and  snoopin* 
around  my  flat  for  two  days." 

I  gawps    at   her   for   a    second,   and    then 
chuckles.     "  You  mean  a  classy-dressed  gent 
with  whiskers?  "  says  I. 

She  nods. 

II  Mr.  J.  Bayard  Steele,"  says  I.     "He's 
the  one  to  see.     He'll  give  you  all  the  par- 
tic 'lars." 

"  Humph!  "  says  she,  sniffin'.  "  What  does 
he  want  of  Josie  Vernon?  What's  his  game?  " 

"  Deeds  of  kindness,  that's  all,"  says  I. 

Mrs.  Shaw  indulges  in  a  hard,  throaty  cackle. 
"  There  ain't  no  such  animal,"  says  she. 
"  Come  now,  you're  in  on  this  with  him.  He 
said  so.  What's  it  all  about?  " 

"  Mrs.  Shaw,"  says  I,  "  you've  heard  all  I 


70      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

got  to  say  on  the  subject.  I'm  more  or  less 
busy  too,  and " 

' '  How  impolite !  ' '  she  breaks  in.  ' '  And  me 
a  lady  too !  Heavings  !  how  faint  I  feel !  ' ' 
With  that  she  sidles  towards  my  desk  chair  and 
slumps  into  it. 

"  Very  distressin'  symptoms,"  says  I. 
"  But  I  got  a  quick  cure  for  attacks  like  that. 
It's  fresh  air,  taken  outside." 

"  I  sha'n't  budge  until  I've  found  why  you're 
hounding  me!  "  says  she,  grippin*  the  chair 
arms. 

"  So?  "  says  I.  "  Maybe  you  didn't  notice 
the  size  of  my  assistant,  Swifty  Joe,  as  you 
came  inf  His  specialty  is  escortin'  obstreper- 
ous parties  downstairs  and  dumpin'  'em  on 
the  curb." 

"  You  try  any  strong-arm  stuff  on  me  and 
I'll  scream  for  help!  "  says  she.  "  I'll  make 
a  charge  against  you  too." 

She  looked  equal  to  it,  and  for  a  minute  I 
stands  there  gazin'  puzzled  at  her  and 
scratchin'  my  head. 

"  You  win,"  says  I.  "I  can't  have  Swifty 
scratched  up.  He's  too  handsome.  It  ain't  any 
secret  I'm  keepin'  away  from  you,  anyway. 
All  Mr.  Steele  wants  to  do  is  to  locate  Josie 
Vernon.  It's  a  will  case,  and  there  may  be 
something  in  it  for  her.  There!  That's  the 
whole  story." 

"  It's  a  fishy  one,"  says  she. 

"  Maybe,"   says   I;   "  but  I'm   givin'  yon 


THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PAETY    71 


my  word  on  it.  Produce  Josie,  and  you'll 
see." 

She  squints  at  me  doubtful,  glances  around 
the  room  cautious  once  or  twice,  and  then  re- 
marks quiet,  "  Very  well.  I'll  take  a  chance. 
I'm  Josie." 

"Eh?  "says  I.    "You!" 

"  Ask  the  Sergeant  over  at  the  Nineteenth," 
says  she.  "  He  ran  me  out  of  his  precinct 
because  I  wouldn't  give  up  enough.  Fortune- 
telling,  you  know.  He  wanted  twenty  a  month. 
Think  of  that!  " 

"  Never  mind  the  Sarge,"  says  I.  "  Did  you 
know  Mr.  Gordon?  " 

"  Pyramid?  "  says  she.  "  Rather!  Back  in 
the  '90 's,  that  was.  I  was  in  his  offices  for 
awhile." 

"  Oh — ho!  "  says  I.  "  Then  you  must  be 
the  one.  Would  you  mind  givin'  me  a  sketch 
of  the  affair?  \J 

Mrs.  Shaw  shrugs  her  shoulders  under  the 
old  cape.  "  Why  should  I  care  now?  "  says 
she.  "  I  sprung  a  breach  of  promise  suit  on 
him,  that's  all.  I  might  have  known  better. 
He  was  a  hard  man,  Pyramid  Gordon.  What 
with  lawyers  and  the  private  detectives  he  set 
after  me,  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  city  alive. 
It  was  two  years  before  I  dared  come  back — 
and  a  rough  two  years  they  were  too!  But 
you're  not  raking  that  up  against  me  at  this 
late  date,  are  you?  " 

"I'm  not,"  says  I.    "  Any  move  I  make  will 


72      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

be  for  your  good.  But  Steele's  the  man.  I'll 
have  to  call  him  in." 

"  Call  away,  then,"  says  she.  "I  ain't 
afraid  of  him,  either." 

And  by  luck  I  catches  J.  Bayard  at  his  hotel 
and  gets  him  on  the  'phone. 

"Well?"  says  I.  "How  about  the  fair 
Josie?  " 

I  could  hear  him  groan  over  the  wire. 
"  Hang  Josie!  "  says  he.  "  See  here,  McCabe, 
I've  had  a  deuce  of  a  time  with  that  case.  Must 
have  been  something  wrong  with  the  address, 
you  know." 

"  How's  that?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  it  led  me  to  a  smelly,  top- 
floor  flat  up  in  Harlem,  and  all  I  could  find  there 
was  this  impossible  person,  Mrs.  Fletcher 
Shaw.  Of  all  the  sniveling,  lying,  vicious- 
tongued  old  harridans !  Do  you  know  what  she 
did?  .Chased  me  down  four  flights  of  stairs 
with  a  broom,  just  because  I  insisted  on  seeing 
Josie  Vernon!  " 

"  You  don't  say!  "  says  I.  "  And  you  such 
a  star  at  this  knight-errant  business!  Still 
want  to  see  Josie,  do  you?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  says  he. 

"  Then  come  down  to  the  studio,"  says  I. 
"  She's  here." 

"  Wha-a-at!  "  he  gasps.  "  I— I'll  be  right 
down. ' ' 

And  inside  of  ten  minutes  he  swings  in,  all 
dolled  up  elegant  with  a  pink  carnation  in  his 


THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PAETY  73 

buttonhole.  You  should  have  seen  the  smile 
come  off  his  face,  though,  when  he  sees  what's 
occupyin'  my  desk  chair.  He'd  have  done  a 
sneak  back  through  the  door  too,  if  I  hadn't 
blocked  him  off. 

"  Steady  there,  J.  Bayard!  "  says  I.  "On 
the  job,  now !  ' ' 

"  But — but  this  isn't  Josie  Vernon,"  says  he. 
"It's  that  Mrs. " 

"  One  and  the  same,"  says  I.  "  The  lady 
says  so  herself.  She's  proved  it  too." 

"  I  had  you  sized  up  as  a  police  spotter," 
puts  in  Mrs.  Shaw,  '  *  trying  to  get  me  for  palm 
reading.  Thought  you  might  have  run  across 
one  of  my  cards.  Josie  Vernon 's  the  name  I 
use  on  them.  Sorry  if  I  was  too  free  with  the 
broom. ' ' 

"  I  was  merely  returning  to  tell  you,  Mad- 
am," says  Steele,  "  that  I  had  discovered  you 
to  be  an  impostor.  Those  five  children  you 
claimed  as  yours  did  not  belong  to  you  at  all. 
The  janitor  of  the  building  informed  me 

Lilctl 

"  Yes,  I  heard  him  through  the  dumb-waiter 
shaft,"  says  Mrs.  Shaw.  "  But  I  always  bor- 
row some  youngsters  for  my  poor  widow  act 
when  I  think  I'm  being  shadowed;  so  you 
needn't  get  peeved." 

' '  Of  course  not.  How  silly  of  him !  "  I  puts 
in.  "  There,  Steele,  that's  all  straightened  out, 
and  here  is  the  original  Josie  Vernon. 
have  you  got  to  suggest  ?  ' ' 


74      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

He  stares  at  me  blank,  and  then  takes  an- 
other look  at  Mrs.  Shaw.  I'll  admit  she  wa'n't 
a  fascinatin'  sight. 

"  You  don't  mean,"  says  he,  whisperin' 
husky  in  my  ear,  "  that  you  would  do  anything 
for  such  a  creature  I  ' 

"  She's  on  the  list,  ain't  she?  "  says  I. 

"  Ye-e-es,"  he  admits;  "  but ." 

"  Let's  ask  the  lady  herself  for  a  few  more 
details,  so  we  can  have  something  definite  to 
go  on,"  says  I.  "  Excuse  us,  Mrs.  Shaw,  for 
this  little  side  debate;  but  we  ain't  quite  made 
up  our  minds  about  you  yet.  Let's  see — you 
was  tellin'  me  about  bringin'  a  breach  of 
promise  suit  against  Pyramid,  and  how  he  ran 
you  out  of  town.  You  had  a  good  case  too,  I 
expect?  ' 

11  What's  the  use  of  lying  about  it  now?  " 
says  she.  "  It  was  a  cheap  bluff,  that's  all;  one 
of  Mr.  Shaw's  brilliant  schemes.  Oh,  he  was  a 
schemer,  Shaw  was !  Pretended  to  be  a  lawyer, 
Fletcher  did,  in  those  days.  He  was  smooth 
enough  for  one,  but  too  lazy.  I  didn't  know 
that  when  I  married  him.  What  I  didn  't  know 
about  him  then!  But  I  learned.  He  thought 
he  could  scare  Mr.  Gordon  into  settling  for  a 
few  thousand.  Of  course  my  claim  was  all 
bosh.  Pyramid  Gordon  hardly  knew  I  was  in 
his  office.  Besides,  I  was  married,  anyway.  He 
didn't  guess  that.  But  the  bluff  didn't  work. 
We  were  the  ones  who  were  scared;  scared 
stiff,  too." 


THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PARTY  75 

"  H-m-m-m!  "  says  I.  "  Not  what  you 
might  call  a  pretty  affair,  was  it?  ' 

Mrs.  Shaw  don't  wince  at  that.  She  just 
sneers  cynical.  "  Life  with  Fletcher  Shaw 
wasn't  pretty  at  any  stage  of  the  game,"  says 
she.  ' '  Say,  you  don 't  think  I  picked  my  career, 
do  you?  True,  I  was  only  a  girl;  but  I  wasn't 
quite  a  fool.  You  will  laugh,  I  suppose,  but  at 
twenty-two  I  had  dreams,  ambitions.  I  meant 
to  be  a  woman  doctor.  I  was  teaching  physi- 
ology and  chemistry  in  a  high  school  up  in 
Connecticut,  where  I  was  born.  In  another 
year  I  could  have  begun  my  medical  course. 
Then  Fletcher  came  along,  with  his  curly  brown 
hair,  his  happy,  careless  smile,  and  his  fasci- 
nating way  of  avoiding  the  truth.  I  gave  up  all 
my  hopes  and  plans  to  go  vith  him.  That's 
what  a  woman  does  when  she  marries.  I  don't 
know  why  it  should  be  so,  but  it  is.  Take  my 
case:  I  had  more  brains,  more  energy,  more 
character,  than  he.  But  he  was  a  man ;  so  I  had 
to  live  his  life.  A  rotten  sort  of  life  it  was. 
And  when  it  was  over — well,  look  at  me.  I've 
learned  to  drink  gin  and  to  make  a  living  as  a 
fortune-teller.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  don't 
care  who  knows  it.  Wanted  details,  didn't  you? 
Well,  you've  got  'em." 

I  glances  at  J.  Bayard,  and  finds  him  lookin* 
the  other  way  with  his  lip  curled.  You 
couldn't  blame  him  so  much.  Listenin'  to  a 
female  party  tell  the  story  of  her  life  ain't  in- 
spirin ',  and  we  're  all  apt  to  duck  things  of  that 


76      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

kind.  They  may  be  true;  but  it's  easier  and 
pleasanter  to  look  the  other  way.  As  for  me, 
I  want  to,  but  can't.  I  just  got  to  take  things 
as  they  are  and  as  they  come.  Forgettin'  weeds 
in  the  back  yard  don't  get  rid  of  'em.  I'm  apt 
to  paw  around  and  see  where  the  roots  spread 
to. 

Meanwhile  J.  Bayard  has  stepped  over  by  the 
window  and  signals  me  to  follow.  "  Disgust- 
ing, isn't  it?  "  says  he.  "  And  you  see  by  this 
creature's  own  story  that  she  doesn't  deserve  a 
penny  of  Pyramid's  money.  He  was  fooled  by 
her,  that's  all." 

11  Not  Pyramid,"  says  I.  "  Didn't  he  have 
her  married  name  on  the  slip  too ?  So  he  must 
have  found  out." 

"That's  so,"  says  Steele.  "Well,  sup- 
pose we  give  her  fifty  or  so,  and  ship  her 
off." 

"  That's  kind  of  small,  considerin'  the  pile 
we  got  to  draw  on,  ain't  it?  "  says  I.  "  And 
it  strikes  me  that  since  Pyramid  put  her  name 

down  he  meant Let's  see  if  there  ain't 

something  special  she  wants." 

"  Say,"  sings  out  Mrs.  Shaw,  "  what  about 
that  will  business?  If  it  was  old  Gordon,  I 
suppose  he  wouldn't  leave  me  much.  He  had 
no  call  to." 

"  About  what  would  you  expect,  now?  "  says 
I,  as  we  drifts  back  to  her. 

She  squints  foxy  at  us  for  a  minute.  "  After 
all  this  fuss,"  says  she,  "  it  ought  to  be  two  or 


THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PARTY  77 

three  hundred — maybe  five.  No,  I  mean  a  thou- 
sand. ' ' 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "A  thousand!  Got  your 
nerve  with  you,  ain't  you!  But  suppose 
it  was  that  much,  what  would  you  do  with 
it?" 

"  Dol  "  says  she,  her  eyes  brightenin'. 

11  Why,  I  would — I Ah,  what's  the  use! 

I'd  make  a  fool  of  myself,  of  course.  And  in- 
side of  ten  days  I'd  be  in  a  D.T.  ward  some- 
where. ' ' 

* '  No  old  home  or  folks  that  you  could  go  back 
to?  "  I  suggests. 

She  shakes  her  head.  "  It's  too  late  for  me 
to  go  back, ' '  says  she.  ' '  Too  late !  ' '  She 
don't  try  to  be  tragic,  don't  even  whine  it  out, 
but  just  states  it  dull  and  flat. 

"  But  most  everyone  has  a  friend  or  so 
somewhere,"  says  I. 

At  first  that  don't  make  any  impression  at 
all.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  she  sits  up  and  gazes 
vague  over  the  top  of  my  head. 

"  There's  the  Baron!  "  says  she. 

"  The  which?  "  says  I. 

"  Von  Blatzer,"  says  she.  "  Oh,  he's  a  real 
Baron,  all  right ;  an  odd-looking,  dried  up  little 
chap  with  a  wig  and  painted  eyebrows.  Yet 
he's  hardly  sixty.  I  got  to  know  him  at  At- 
lantic City,  where  I  had  a  Board  Walk  pitch 
one  season.  Queer?  That's  no  word  for  it! 
Shy  and  lonesome  he  was ;  but  after  you  got  to 
know  him,  one  of  the  brightest,  jolliest  old 


78      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

duffers.    Our  first  talk  was  out  on  the  end  of 
one  of  those  long  piers,  by  moonlight. 

"  After  that  it  was  a  regular  thing.  We'd 
walk  up  and  down  like  two  kids,  telling  each 
other  all  about  ourselves.  I'd  never  stated  my 
full  opinion  of  Fletcher  Shaw  to  a  soul  before; 
but  somehow  old  Von  was  so  friendly  and 
sympathetic  that  I  cut  loose.  The  Baron 
ground  his  teeth  over  it.  He  said  that  Fletcher 
should  have  been  caught  young  and  shot  from 
a  cannon.  Good  old  Von  Blatzer !  Wanted  me 
to  go  back  to  Vienna  as  the  Baroness.  Think 
of  it — me!  But  I  was  having  a  good  season. 
Besides,  I  didn't  think  I  could  stand  for  a  wig. 
I  didn't  know  how  much  I  was  going  to  miss 
him." 

"  You  wouldn't  shy  at  the  wig  now,  eh?  ' 
says  I. 

"  Would  I!  "  says  she.  "  Honest,  I  liked 
Von  Blatzer,  for  all  his  freaky  ways.  He  was 
human,  he  was,  and  we  understood  each  other. 
He'll  be  at  Monte  Carlo  now.  Eoulette,  you 
know.  That's  all  he  lives  for.  Plays  a  system. 
Nice  little  income  he  has;  not  big,  but  com- 
fortable. And  during  the  season  he  feeds  it 
all  into  the  wheel.  Someone  ought  to  cure  him 
of  that." 

' '  Think  you  could,  I  expect  ?  ' '  says  I.  * '  But 
how  about  you  and  the  juniper  juice  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  could  quit  that  easy  if  there  was  any- 
thing else  to  do,"  says  she.  "  But  there  isn't." 

"  Then  here's  a  proposition,"  says  I.    "  You 


THE  CASE  OF  A  FEMALE  PAETY    79 

query  him  by  cable  to  see  if  he's  changed  his 
mind;  and  if  he's  still  a  candidate  for  matri- 
mony— well,  I  guess  Mr.  Steele  will  see  that 
you  get  to  the  Baron." 

"  You — you  mean  that?  "  says  she  gaspy. 

11  Uh-huh,"  says  I.    "It's  up  to  you." 

"  But — but  I Why,  look  at  me!  "  says 

she. 

"  Two  weeks  on  the  water  wagon,  a  few  visits 
to  the  beauty  parlors,  and  an  outfit  of  tango 
skirts  ought  to  make  some  difference,  hadn't 
it  ?  "  says  I.  * '  Those  items  would  be  included. 
What  do  you  say?  " 

I  expect  it  was  a  good  deal  of  a  proposition 
to  spring  on  a  female  party.    No  wonder  she 
choked  up  over  it. 

II  If  I  thought  you  were  just  guying  me," 
says  she,  "  I — I'd " 

'  *  Here 's  a  cable  blank, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Frame  up 
your  call  to  the  Baron  while  I  state  the  case  to 
Mr.  Steele." 

He  couldn't  see  it  at  all,  J.  Bayard  couldn't. 
"  What!  "  says  he.  "  Waste  all  that  money 
on  such  a  wretch!  Why,  the  woman  is  un- 
worthy of  even  the  most " 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  "  says  I. 
"  Pyramid  didn't  put  that  in  the  bill  of  par- 
tic 'lars,  did  he?  Maybe  he  had  doubts  about 
himself.  And  how  would  we  qualify?  How 
would  you?  Come,  what's  your  battin'  aver- 
age, Steele,  in  the  worthy  league?  ' 

J.  Bayard  squirms  a  little  at  that,  and  then 


80      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

hunches  his  shoulders.  "  Oh,  if  you're  going 
to  put  it  that  way,"  says  he,  "  go  ahead.  But 
when  she  starts  to  be  a  Baroness,  I'd  like  to  see 
her." 

"  You'll  be  there  to  hand  her  the  tickets," 
says  I.  "  You'll  get  her  ready.  That's  part 
of  your  job." 

He  saw  the  point.  And,  say,  he  did  his  work 
thorough.  I  saw  no  more  of  Mrs.  Shaw  until 
nearly  two  weeks  later,  when  Steele  towed  me 
down  to  the  steamer. 

11  Which  one!  "  says  I,  lookin'  at  the  crowd 
along  the  rail.  ' '  Ah,  come  off !  That  with  the 
veils  and  the  stunnin'  figure — the  one  wavin' 
this  wayf  That  ain't  never  Mrs.  Fletcher 
Shaw!" 

"  That's  Josie,"  says  he.  "  And  before  the 
end  of  the  month  she'll  be  the  Baroness  Von 
Blatzer.  Changed?  Why,  I  hardly  recognized 
her  myself  after  her  first  day's  shopping!  She 
must  have  been  quite  a  beauty  once.  But  what 
a  wreck  she  was  when " 

"  When  she  chased  you  with  the  broom, 
eh?  "  says  I,  chucklin'.  "  And  now  you're  as 
chesty  over  her  as  though  you'd  been  workin' 
a  miracle.  Just  beamin'  for  joy,  you  are!  ' 

"  I  know,"  says  he.  "  And  really,  McCabe, 
I've  never  had  a  hand  in  anything  which  has 
given  me  so  much  genuine  pleasure.  It — it's 
weird,  you  know.  I  can't  think  what's  happen- 
ing to  me." 

"  Maybe,"  says  I,  "you're  sproutin'  a  soul." 


HOW   MILLIE   SHOOK   THE   JINX 

KIND  of  odd  the  way  the  Morans  and  Elisha 
Porter  Bayne  coincided.  You'd  think  so  if  you 
could  see  'em  bunched  once;  for  Elisha  P.  is  a 
mighty  fine  man;  you  know,  one  of  our  most 
prominent  and  highly  respected  citizens.  Every- 
body says  so.  The  local  weekly  always  prints 
it  that  way.  Besides,  he's  president  of  the 
Trust  Company,  head  of  the  Buildin '  and  Loan, 
chairman  of  the  School  Board,  and  a  director  of 
such  things  as  the  Old  Ladies'  Home,  the  Hos- 
pital, and  the  Nut  and  Bolt  Works.  Always 
wears  a  black  frock  coat  and  a  white  string  tie 
too, — tall,  thin  jawed,  distinguished  lookin' 
gent. 

While  the  Morans — say,  let's  put  them  oft  as 
long  as  we  can.  And  the  more  we  linger  in  the 
society  of  Mr.  Bayne  the  better  we  ought  to  be. 
Up  to  last  spring,  I  blush  to  admit,  I'd  never 
been  favored  much.  Course,  commutin'  in  and 
out  the  way  I  do,  I  didn't  have  a  good  show. 
But  we  passes  the  nod  when  we  meets.  Elisha 
P.  never  strains  his  neck  durin'  the  exercise. 
You  could  detect  his  nod  with  the  naked  eye, 
though,  and  I  expect  that  was  a  good  deal  from 

81 


82      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

him  to  me.  You  get  the  idea.  That  nod  in- 
cludes only  the  Mr.  McCabe  that  owns  a  shore- 
front  place  and  votes  in  Bockhurst-on-the- 
Sound.  It  don't  stretch  so  far  as  to  take  in 
Shorty  McCabe  who  runs  a  Physical  Culture 
Studio  on  42d-st.  And  that's  all  right  too.  I'm 
satisfied. 

Then  here  one  day  back  in  April,  as  I'm 
drivin'  home  from  the  station  with  Sadie,  who 
should  step  to  the  curb  and  hold  me  up  but  Mr. 
Bayne.  Does  it  offhand,  friendly,  mind  you. 
Course  I  stops  sudden.  Sadie  bows  and  smiles. 
I  lifts  my  lid.  Mr.  Bayne  holds  his  square- 
topped  derby  against  his  white  shirt  front.  We 
shakes  hands  cordial.  And  I'm  most  gaspin' 
for  breath  when  it's  over. 

"  Ah,  by  the  way,  Mr.  McCabe,"  says  he, 
"  about  that — err—  Sucker  Brook  tract?  Have 
you  thought  it  over  yet?  " 

Just  like  that,  you  know;  as  if  it  was  some- 
thing we'd  been  talkin'  about  for  months,  while 
as  a  matter  of  fact  this  is  the  first  hint  I'd  had 
that  Elisha  P.  was  interested  at  all. 

Not  that  it  hadn't  been  put  up  to  me.  Why, 
three  diff  'rent  parties  had  interviewed  me  con- 
fidential on  the  proposition,  offerin'  to  let  me 
in  on  the  ground  floor,  and  givin'  as  many  dif- 
f 'rent  but  more  or  less  convincin'  reasons  for 
bein'  so  generous.  One  explains  how  he  wanted 
to  see  the  tract  go  to  some  local  man  instead 
of  New  York  speculators;  another  confesses 
that  their  little  syndicate  is  swingin'  too  much 


HOW  MILLIE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      83 

undeveloped  property  and  has  got  to  start  a 
bargain  counter;  while  the  third  man  slaps  me 
hearty  on  the  back  and  whispers  that  he  just 
wants  to  put  me  next  to  a  good  thing. 

I  come  near  swallowin'  the  bait  too;  for  I'd 
turned  over  some  Bronx  buildin'  lots  not  long 
before  at  a  nice  little  advance,  and  the  kale  was 
only  drawin'  three  per  cent.  Course  this 
Sucker  Brook  chunk  ain't  much  to  look  at,  a 
strip  of  marshy  ground  along  the  railroad ;  but 
half  a  mile  away  they're  sellin'  villa  plots,  and 
acreage  is  mighty  scarce  so  near  the  city  line  as 
we  are.  Took  me  a  week  of  scoutin'  among  my 
friends  to  discover  that  this  gang  of  real  estate 
philanthropists  had  bought  up  the  Sucker 
Brook  tract  on  a  private  tip  that  a  trolley  ex- 
tension was  goin'  to  be  put  through  there.  So 
it  might  have  been  too,  only  a  couple  of  the 
County  Board  members  who  was  tryin'  to  pull 
off  another  deal  got  busy  and  blocked  the  fran- 
chise. Then  it  was  a  case  of  unload,  with  me 
runnin'  as  favorite  in  the  Easy  Mark  Handicap. 
And  now  here  comes  Elisha  P.,  straight  out  of 
the  Trust  Company,  to  spring  the  trapdoor 
himself. 

"  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Bayne,"  says  I.  "  I've 
chewed  it  over  some;  but  I  ain't  quite  made  up 
my  mind  to  take  it  on. ' ' 

"You  haven't!"  says  he,  his  nice,  white, 
respectable  eyebrows  showin'  great  surprise. 
* '  But,  my  dear  man,  I  personally  had  that  offer 
made  to  you.  Why,  we  could  have But 


84      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

never  mind  that.  I  hope  you  may  see  fit  to  give 
us  your  answer  by  Saturday  noon." 

"  That  depends,"  says  I,  "on  whether  you 
come  for  it  or  not." 

"  I  beg  pardon?  "  says  he,  starin'. 

"  At  the  studio,"  says  I,  shovin'  over  one  of 
my  professional  cards.  "  That's  where  I  do 
business.  So  long,  Mr.  Bayne."  And  with  that 
I  throws  in  the  clutch  and  leaves  him  gawpin ' ! 

"  Why,  Shorty!  "  says  Sadie.  "  How  horrid 
of  you !  And  Mr.  Bayne  is  such  a  nice  old  gen- 
tleman too!  " 

"  Yes,  ain't  he?  "  says  I.  "  And  for  smooth- 
ness he's  got  a  greased  plank  lookin'  like  a 
graveled  walk." 

I  didn't  think  he'd  come  after  that.    But  the 
other  lines  they  had  out  must  have  been  hauled 
in  empty ;  for  not  ten  days  later  I  has  a  'phone 
call  from  him  sayin'  he's  in  town  and  that  if  it's 
convenient  he'll  drop  around  about  three  P.M. 

II  I'll  be  here,"  says  I. 

"  And  I  trust,"  he  adds,  "  that  I — er — may 
not  encounter  any  pugilists  or — er " 

"  You'll  be  safe,"  says  I,  "  unless  some  of 
my  Wall  Street  customers  break  office  rules  and 
try  to  ring  you  in  on  a  margin  deal.  Outside 
of  them,  or  now  and  then  a  railroad  president, 
the  studio  has  a  quiet,  refined  patronage." 

"  Ah,  thanks,"  says  he. 

"  Swifty,"  says  I  to  my  assistant,  "  don't 
show  yourself  in  the  front  office  after  three 
to-day.  I'm  goin'  to  entertain  a  pillar  of  so- 


HOW  MILLIE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      85 

ciety,  and  a  sight  of  that  mug  of  yours  might 
get  him  divin'  through  the  window." 

'  *  Ahr-r-r-r  chee !  ' '  remarks  Swif  ty  Joe, 
catchin'  the  wink. 

Course,  I  might  have  got  real  peevish  over 
Mr.  Bayne's  suspicions,  and  told  him  to  go 
chase  himself;  but  I'm  feeling  sort  of  good- 
humored  that  day.  Besides,  thinks  I,  it  won't 
do  any  harm  to  show  him  just  how  peaceful  and 
respectable  a  physical  culture  studio  can  be. 
You  know  the  ideas  some  people  get.  Anql  as 
a  rule  our  floor  here  is  the  quietest  in  the 
buildin'.  I  knew  it  would  be  that  day  specially; 
for  all  we  had  on  the  slate  was  a  couple  of 
poddy  old  parties  who'd  be  workin'  away  at 
the  apparatus,  bavin'  about  as  strenuous  a 
time  as  a  baby  playin'  with  its  toes. 

But  I  hadn't  counted  in  that  Sieger  &  Bloom 
combination,  up  on  the  fourth.  They  run  a 
third-rate  theatrical  agency,  you  know,  and 
just  about  then  they  was  fillin'  out  contracts 
for  summer  snaps,  and  what  you  saw  driftin' 
up  and  down  the  stairs  didn't  make  you  yearn 
to  be  a  vaudeville  actor.  So  later  on,  when  I 
heard  an  argument  in  progress  out  in  the  hall, 
I  glances  nervous  at  the  clock.  It's  almost  on 
the  tick  of  three. 

"  Hey,  cut  out  the  riot!  "  I  calls  through  the 
transom;  but  as  there's  no  letup  to  the  debate 
I  strolls  over  to-  the  door,  prepared  to  reprove 
someone  real  severe. 

It's  quite   some   spirited  scene  out  on  the 


86      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

landin'.  There's  old  man  Bloom,  a  short, 
squatty,  fish-eyed  old  pirate  with  a  complexion 
like  sour  dough.  He  has  one  foot  on  the  next 
flight,  and  seems  to  be  retreatin'  as  he  waves 
his  pudgy  hands  and  sputters.  Followin'  him 
up  is  a  tall,  willowy,  black-eyed  young  woman 
in  a  giddy  Longchamps  creation  direct  from 
Canal-st.  She's  pleadin'  earnest  that  Bloom 
mustn't  forget  he's  talkin'  to  a  lady.  Behind 
her  is  a  husky,  red-haired  young  gent  with  his 
fingers  bunched  menacin';  while  just  below, 
hesitatin'  whether  to  push  through  the  hostili- 
ties or  beat  it  back  to  the  street,  is  Elisha  P. 
Bayne,  Esq. 

11  Give  us  a  show  to  make  good,  that's  all  we 
ask,"  the  young  woman  is  sayin'.  "  Put  us  on 
somewhere,  as  you  said  you  would  when  you 
took  our  money." 

1  'Bah!"  snorts  old  Bloom.  "  I  vouldn't 
sign,  you  for  a  Third-ave.  cabaret.  Your  act  is 
rotten.  A  pair  of  cheab  skaters,  you  are  — 
cheab  skaters!  " 

"  Oh,  we  are,  are  we?  "  explodes  the  young 
woman.  Then,  biff!  out  flashes  one  of  her 
long  arms,  and  the  next  thing  Bloom  knows 
his  silk  lid  has  been  smashed  down  over  his 
eyes. 

"Helb!  Helb!  "  he  squeals.  "  Bolice!  I 
vill  ged  the  bolice  after  you."  With  that  he 
makes  a  break  past  her  and  goes  waddlin'  down- 
stairs on  the  run. 

Now  I've  done  it,   I  reckon,"   says   the 


" 


HOW  MILLIE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      87 

young  woman.  "  And  that  about  finishes  us, 
Timothy  dear.  He's  after  a  cop." 

"  Yes,  and  he'll  bring  one  back,"  I  puts  in, 
"  or  I  don't  know  Abie  Bloom.  About  five  and 
costs  will  be  the  bill.  But  it  ought  to  be  worth 
it." 

"  It  would,  every  cent,"  says  she,  "  if  we  had 
the  five." 

"  In  that  case,"  says  I,  "  you'd  better  do  a 
sudden  duck." 

"  But  where  to!  "  says  she,  glancin'  des- 
perate down  the  stairs. 

And,  say,  the  thought  of  how  comic  old  Bloom 
looked  strugglin'  out  of  his  hat,  and  of  how 
eager  he'd  be  to  get  her  sent  to  the  Island  for 
it,  was  too  much  for  me. 

"  In  here,"  says  I,  steppin'  out  of  the  studio 
door.  "  You  too,"  and  I  motions  to  the  red- 
haired  gent.  Then,  turnin'  to  Elisha  P.,  I  goes 
on,  •"  Better  join  the  group,  Mr.  Bayne." 

"  But,  you  know,"  he  protests,  "  this  is  the 
very  thing  I  wished  to  avoid.  I  do  not  care  to 
mingle  with  such — er " 


t. i 


I  expect  not,"  says  I;  "  but  if  you  stay 
here  you'll  be  gathered  in  as  a  witness  to  the 
assault.  Course,  if  you'd  rather  do  that — 
why " 

"  No,  no !  "  says  he.  "  I — I  think  I  will  step 
in,  for  a  moment  at  least." 

He  made  up  his  mind  just  in  time;  for  I'd  no 
sooner  herded  the  bunch  into  the  front  office 
and  locked  the  door  than  we  hears  Bloom  towin' 


88      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

the  cop  up  the  stairs  and  describin'  puffy  how 
he'd  been  most  murdered.  We  listens  while 
they  searches  the  hallways  clear  to  the  top,  and 
then  hears  the  cop  trampin'  down  again.  He 
calls  back  to  Bloom  that  he'll  keep  an  eye  out 
for  the  female  assaulter. 

11  That's  Roundsman  Foley,"  says  I,  "  and 
he's  got  a  four-mile  beat  to  cover  between  now 
and  five  o'clock.  Inside  of  twenty  minutes  he'll 
be  blocks  away.  Might  as  well  sit  down, 
Folks." 

' '  Say,  Mister, ' '  speaks  up  the  young  woman, 
"  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  but  we're  much 
obliged.  Tim,  speak  up." 

Timothy  wanted  to;  but  he  ain't  an  easy  con- 
verser,  and  the  language  seems  to  clog  his 
tongue. 

11  Don't  mention  it,"  says  I.  "I  ain't  got 
any  personal  grudge  against  Mr.  Bloom;  but 
I've  been  achin'  to  see  someone  hand  him  a  pat, 
just  for  greens.  There's  my  name  on  the 
door." 

"  Oh!  "  says  the  young  woman.  "  Then 
you're  Professor  McCabe?  Well,  we're  the 
Morans,  Millie  and  Tim.  Tango  is  our 
line." 

I  can  see  Elisha  P.  shudder  visible  at  that. 
He  hesitates  a  second,  and  then  comes  to  the 
front.  "  McCabe,!'  says  he,  "I  feel  that  I 
must  protest.  An  assault  was  committed  in 
your  presence.  As  a  law-abiding  citizen  it 
should  be  your  duty  to  turn  the  offender  over 


HOW  MILLIE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      89 

to  the  authorities  instead  of  furnishing  a  hid- 
ing place." 

"  Now  listen  to  that!  "  says  I.  "  All  right, 
Mr.  Bayne,  if  you  insist.  But  you  go  along  as 
a  witness  too." 

"  In  a  police  court!  "  he  gasps.  "  Why — 
really,  you  know,  I — I  couldn't  do  such  a 
thing." 

"  Case  quashed  then,"  says  I.  "I'm  too 
bashful  to  go  alone." 

11  But  you  know,"  says  he,  "  I  came  here 
merely  on  a  matter  of  business." 

"  Yes,  we'll  get  to  that  pretty  soon,"  says  I. 
"  Our  friends  here  are  only  goin'  to  stop  until 
the  travelin'  is  safer."  Then  I  turns  to  the 
Morans.  "  Dancers,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Where 
have  you  been  on?  ' 

"  Nowhere,"  says  Millie.  "  We're  tryin'  to 
break  in." 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.  "  Candidates  for  amateur 
night?  " 

* '  Not  much !  ' '  says  Millie.  ' '  We  're  as  good 
as  any.  Maurice  ain't  got  a  thing  on  us,  hon- 
est ;  nor  that  Ripple  combination,  either.  Why, 
we  got  steps  of  our  own  that  the  rest  haven't 
thought  of!  " 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  says  she,  shruggin'  her  shoul- 
ders. "  Maybe  we  don't  look  it;  but,  say,  we've 
got  the  goods." 

"  Case  of  undiscovered  genius,  eh?  "  says  I. 

Millie  flushes  a  little  at  that;  but  bites  her 


90      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

lips  to  keep  back  the  hot  retort.  Bright  lookin' 
girl,  Millie;  and  if  she  hadn't  been  costumed  so 
vivid  she  wouldn't  have  been  such  a  bad  looker. 
But  in  that  tight,  striped  dress  with  the  slashed 
skirt,  and  that  foolish  lid  with  the  two  skimpy 
pink  feathers  curlin'  over  the  back — well,  be- 
lieve me,  she  was  some  zippy ! 

"  Say,  lemme  tell  you  how  it  happened,  won't 
you?  "  says  she. 

"  If  it  ain't  too  long,"  says  I. 

"  I'll  make  it  sketchy,"  says  she.  "  In  the 
first  place,  when  I  landed  here  in  New  York 
about  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  I'd  made  up  my 
mind  to  connect  with  big  money.  I  didn't  know 
exactly  how;  the  stage,  maybe.  Anyway,  I 
knew  the  coin  was  here,  and  that  it  wasn't  in 
Saskatoon." 

"  Sass — which!  "  says  I. 

"  Saskatoon,"  says  she.  "  It's  on  the  map, 
up  in  Saskatchewan,  you  know.  No,  I  wasn't 
born  there.  Hardly  anybody  was.  It's  too  new. 
I  went  there  with  Mother  and  Brother  Phil 
when  the  Northwest  boom  first  started.  It  was 
all  right  for  Philip.  He  could  do  surveying, 
and  then  he  got  to  dipping  into  real  estate. 
But  there  was  no  chance  for  me;  so  I  started 
for  the  white  lights.  While  I  was  looking 
around  here  I  took  on  anything  that  would 
furnish  a  meal  ticket.  Oh,  you  can't  starve 
Millie!  I  did  fancy  ironin'  in  a  hand  laundry, 
was  window  demonstrator  for  an  electric  vi- 
brator concern,  did  a  turn  as  a  dress  model, 


HOW  MILLIE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      91 

and  sold  soda  checks  in  a  drugstore.  They 
don't  load  you  down  on  payday  in  any  of  them 
places;  but  that  didn't  worry  me.  I  was  sizing 
up  the  good  things,  and  I'd  about  decided  on 
the  front  row  of  a  musical  comedy  for  mine, 
when  what  did  I  have  to  go  and  do  but  get  soft 
on  Tim  here !  ' ' 

Tim  blushes  embarrassed  and  scrapes  his 
hoof. 

"  Enough  to  wreck  most  any  career,  wasn't 
it?  "  goes  on  Millie.  "  Think  of  it!  Me,  who'd 
come  down  to  New  York  with  my  head  so  full  of 
ambitions  there  wasn't  any  room  to  catch  cold, 
and  then  in  a  little  over  a  year  to  go  and  marry 
the  first  good-natured  Irishman  that  asked 
me!  You  see,  I'm  only  half  Irish  myself, — 
Mother  was  Argentine  Spanish, — which  makes 
me  so  different  from  Tim.  Look  at  him !  Would 
you  dream  he  had  a  bit  of  sense?  But  he's — 
oh,  he's  Tim,  that's  all.  And  not  many  of  'em 
come  better.  Driving  a  motor  truck,  he  was, 
and  satisfied  at  that.  It  was  up  at  a  Terrace 
Garden  dance  we  got  acquainted.  No  music  at 
all  in  his  head;  but  in  his  feet — say,  he  just 
naturally  has  to  let  his  toes  follow  the  tune, 
and  if  ragtime  hadn't  been  invented  he'd  have 
walked  slow  all  his  life.  And  me?  Well,  I 
ought  to  dance,  with  Father  a  born  fiddler,  and 
Mother  brought  up  with  castanets  in  her  hands. 
We  danced  twelve  of  the  fourteen  numbers  to- 
gether that  night,  and  I  never  even  noticed  he 
had  red  hair.  I'd  been  dying  to  dance  for 


92      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

months.  Some  partner,  Tim  was  too.  That 
began  it.  We  joined  a  class  and  started  learn- 
ing the  new  steps,,  And  almost  before  I  knew 
it  I  was  Mrs.  Moran.  We'd  been  married 
nearly  a  month  before  I  woke  up  to  what  a  fool 
thing  I'd  done.  There  I  was,  tryin'  to  feed  and 
clothe  two  people,  besides  payin'  the  rent  and 
furniture  installments,  all  on  sixteen  per.  I 
got  a  job  as  cashier  in  a  quick  lunch  place  next 
day.  Tim  didn't  like  it  a  bit;  did  you,  Tim!  " 

Mr.  Moran  grins  good-natured. 

"  That's  the  way  he  stormed  around  at 
home,"  says  Millie.  "  But  I  had  a  scheme. 
We'd  seen  some  of  this  dancing  done  on  the 
stage,  not  much  better  than  we  could  do  our- 
selves. *  Tim  dear,'  says  I,  '  we've  been  danc- 
ing for  the  fun  of  it.  It's  the  best  thing  you 
do.  Now  let's  make  it  pay.'  He  thought  I 
was  crazy.  I  believe  he  had  an  idea  he  was 
born  to  drive  a  gasoline  truck,  and  that  it  would 
be  wicked  to  try  anything  else.  But  I  do  the 
heavy  thinking  for  the  Moran  family.  I  nearly 
starved  him  until  I'd  saved  out  a  tenspot. 
Then  I  went  to  the  best  tango  professor  I  could 
find  and  took  an  hour  lesson.  Next  I  taught 
Tim.  We  cleared  out  our  little  dining  room  and 
had  our  meals  off  the  gas  range.  My  next 
splurge  was  a  music  machine  and  some  dance 
records.  One  Saturday  Tim  brought  home  two 
dollars  for  overtime,  and  that  night  we  watched 
Maurice  from  the  second  balcony.  Then  we 
really  began  practicing.  Why,  some  nights  I 


kept  him  at  it  for  four  hours  on  a  stretch.  He 
weighed  one  hundred  and  eighty  at  the  start; 
but  now  he's  down  to  one  hundred  and  forty- 
three.  But  it's  been  good  for  him.  And  trying 
to  keep  all  those  new  variations  in  his  head — 
why,  he's  almost  learned  to  think!  Say,  you 
know  you  can  get  almost  anything  by  keeping 
at  it.  And  Tim  and  I  have  learned  rag  dancing, 
all  there  is  to  it,  besides  some  I've  made  up. 
All  we  need  now  is  a  chance,  and  it's  such  scum 
as  old  Bloom  that  keeps  us  out.  Do  you  blame 
me  for  landing  on  his  hat?  " 

"  Not  me,"  says  I.  "  And  I  hope  you  break 
in  sometime  or  other." 

11  It's  got  to  be  now,"  says  Millie.  "  I've 
made  Tim  quit  the  truck,  and  we're  down  to  our 
last  dollar.  Think  of  that!  Just  when  I  can 
see  daylight  ahead  too !  Why,  if  I  knew  where 
I  could  get  hold  of  two  hundred " 

She  pauses  and  gazes  around  sort  of  des- 
perate, until  she  and  Elisha  P.  Bayne  are 
stariii'  at  each  other. 

I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation,  either. 
it  There  you  are,"  says  I.  "  Mr.  Bayne  runs  a 
bank.  Lendin'  money's  his  business." 

"  Really,  McCabe!  "  says  Bayne  indignant. 

But  Millie  ain't  lettin'  any  hints  get  by. 
' '  Why  wouldn  't  someone  lend  me  that  much  f  ' 
says  she,  gazin'  earnest  at  me  once  more. 
* '  Just  two  hundred !  I  could  pay  it  back  in  less 
than  six  months.  Oh,  I'm  sure  I  could!  Mr. 
McCabe,  wouldn't  you?  " 


94      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Almost  took  my  breath  away,  the  quick  way 
she  turned  my  josh  back  on  me.  "  Why,"  says 
I,  "  I — I  might — on  security." 

"  Security?  "  says  she,  kind  of  vague.  Then 
all  of  a  sudden  she  brightens  up.  ' '  Why,  yes ; 
of  course  you'd  want  security.  I'd  put  up 
Tim." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  and  something  of  the  kind 
comes  from  Timothy  too. 

<fcHe  can  always  earn  from  twelve  to  fifteen 
a  week,"  says  Millie,  eager.  "  You  could  have 
ten  of  it  for  twenty  weeks.  We  could  live  in 
one  room,  and  I  would  keep  things  running. 
Honest,  if  we  don't  make  a  go  of  it  we'll  come 
back  and  pay  up." 

"  But  what's  the  scheme?  "  says  I.  "  Going 
off  somewhere,  are  you?  " 

"  That's  what  I  want  the  money  for,  to  take 
us  there,"  says  she.  "  I — I  don't  want  to  tell 
the  rest.  I  haven't  even  told  Tim.  But  we  can 
win  out.  I'm  sure  we  can  if  you'll  stake  us. 
Won't  you,  please,  Professor  McCabe?  ' 

And  I  expect  it  was  all  due  to  that  sneer  of 
Elisha  P.  Bayne  's.  For  while  this  was  about  as 
batty  a  business  proposition  as  I  ever  had  put 
up  to  me,  this  scheme  of  Millie's  for  hockin' 
her  hubby,  I'd  got  more  or  less  int 'rested  in  her 
yarn.  And  it  struck  me  that  a  girl  who'd  done 
what  she  had  wa'n't  any  quitter.  Elisha  puts 
on  such  a  hard,  cold  sneer  too ;  and  comin'  from 
this  wise,  foxy  old  near-plute  who'd  been 
playin'  lead  pipe  cinches  all  his  life,  I  expect, 


"SAY,  I'M  A  BEAR  FOR  PARIS." 


HOW  MOJJE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      95 

and  never  lettin'  go  of  a  nickel  until  he  had  a 
dime's  worth  of  goods  in  his  fist — well,  it  got 
to  me,  all  right. 

11  You  win,"  says  I,  flashin'  my  roll  and 
startin'  to  count  off  the  twenties. 

"  But,  McCabe!  "  gasps  Elisha  P.  "  Surely 
you're  not  going  to  lend  two  hundred  dollars 
to — to  such  a  person  as  this?  " 

"  Yep,"  says  I.  "  This  is  my  foolish  day. 
And  I'm  goin'  to  write  you  a  check  for  two 
hundred  more  for  a  six  months'  option  on  that 
Sucker  Brook  tract.  Here  you  are,  Mrs. 
Moran.  Never  mind  the  ticket  for  Tim.  I'm 
takin'  your  word." 

"  Talk  about  miracles!  "  says  Millie,  countin' 
the  money  dazed. 

"  Bless  you,  Sorr!  "  says  Tim  husky  as  I 
shows  'em  out. 

And  I  finds  Elisha  P.  sittin'  there  rubbin' 
his  hands  expectant.  He  must  have  sus- 
picioned  I  was  easy  all  the  while,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  hung  on  so;  but  after  this  exhibition  I 
expect  he  felt  it  was  only  a  matter  of  makin'  a 
few  passes  and  then  walkin'  off  with  everything 
but  my  shirt.  Fact  is,  though,  I'd  had  some 
new  dope  on  this  property,  and  while  it  looked 
like  a  thirty-to-one  shot  I  thought  I'd  take  a 
chance.  Course,  he  tries  to  close  the  deal  out- 
right; but  the  option  is  as  far  as  I'll  go. 

For  weeks  after  that,  though,  I  carried  four 
hundred  on  the  books  with  a  minus  sign  in 
front.  Then  I  crossed  it  off  altogether.  Not  a 


96      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

word  from  the  Morans.  Nothing  doing  in  the 
way  of  buying  booms  around  Sucker  Brook. 
But  you  got  to  stand  some  losses  now  and  then 
if  you're  goin'  to  keep  in  line  for  an  occasional 
big  cleanup.  And,  anyway,  it  was  worth  while 
to  head  Elisha  P.  Bayne's  boob  list.  You  ought 
to  see  the  sarcastic  smiles  he  used  to  shoot  over 
when  we'd  meet  and  he'd  ask  if  I'd  heard  from 
my  dancing  friends  yet.  Say,  I  expect  I  fur- 
nished the  one  joke  of  his  life. 

I  did  bank  on  gettin'  back  something  from 
Millie,  though,  if  only  a  money  order  for  ten 
on  account.  But  all  through  June  and  July, 
clear  into  August,  not  a  whisper.  Whatever 
her  scheme  had  been,  it  must  have  gone  wrong. 

And  then  here  one  mornin'  last  week  as  I'm 
gazin'  idle  out  the  front  window  onto  42d-st., 
up  rolls  a  taxi,  and  out  climbs  a  couple  that 
you  might  have  said  had  been  shot  over  by 
aeroplane  from  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  Couldn't 
tell  that  so  much  from  her  getup  as  from  the 
Frenchy  hat  and  boulevard  whiskers  he's 
sportin'.  First  brick  red  imperial  I  ever  re- 
member seem'  too.  It  ain't  until  they've 
climbed  the  stairs  and  walked  in  the  studio 
door,  though,  that  I  even  had  a  glimmer  as  to 
who  they  was.  But  one  glance  at  them  black 
eyes  of  the  lady's  was  enough. 

"Well,  I'll  be  singed!"  says  I.  "The 
Morans!  " 

"  Of  London  and  Paris,"  adds  Millie. 

1 '  Gwan !  ' '  says  I. 


HOW  MILLIE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      97 

"  Show  him,  Tim,"  says  she.  At  which 
Timothy  extracts  from  the  inside  of  his  silk 
tile  a  billboard  poster  announcing  the  comin', 
for  a  limited  engagement  only,  of  those  Euro- 
pean tango  wizards,  Mons.  and  Mile.  Moran. 

"  I  cabled  our  agents  we  wouldn't  sail 
until  we'd  seen  a  sample  of  the  paper,"  says 
Millie. 

"  Gee!  "  says  I.  "  You  must  have  got 
next!  " 

"  Did  we?  "  says  Millie.  "  My  word!  Why, 
when  we  hit  London  the  craze  was  just  striking 
in  over  there.  We  was  among  the  advance 
guard.  Say,  we  hadn't  been  over  ten  days  be- 
fore we  headed  the  bill  at  the  Alcazar  as  the 
famous  New  York  tango  artists.  Inside  of  two 
weeks  more  we  were  doing  three  turns  a  night, 
with  all  kinds  of  private  dates  on  the  side.  Say, 
would  you  believe  it?  I've  danced  with  a  real 
Duke!  And  Tim — why  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
me  on  the  spot  there 'd  been  no  telling  what 
would  have  happened.  Those  English  society 
women  are  the  limit.  Then  Paris.  Ah,  ma 
chere  Paris!  Say,  I'm  a  bear  for  Paris.  Didn't 
we  soak  the  price  on  when  that  Moulin  Rouge 
guy  came  after  us,  though?  Ma  foil  Say,  he 
used  to  weep  when  he  paid  me  the  money. 
*  Mon  Dieu!  Five  hundred  francs  for  so  small 
a  danse!  '  But  he  paid.  Trust  Millie  Moran! 
Say,  I  collected  a  few  glad  rags  over  there  too. 
What  about  this  one?  " 

"  It  don't  need  any  Paris  label,"  says  I. 


98      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Don't  see  how  you  got  upstairs  in  it, 
though.? 

11  I  can  do  a  cartwheel  in  it,"  says  she. 
«  We've  learned  to  handle  ourselves  some,  Tim 
and  I.  And  now  I  guess  I'll  take  him  out  of 
hock.  You'll  find  two  hundred  gold  in  the 
package. ' ' 

"  Thanks,"  says  I,  openin'  the  long  envelope. 
"  But  what's  this  other?  " 

"Oh,  that!"  says  she.  "Interest.  Deed 
for  a  few  lots  in  the  new  North  Addition  to 
Saskatoon." 

"Tut,  tut!"  says  I.  "I  can't  take  'em. 
That  wa'n't  any  loan  I  staked  you  to;  just 
bread  on  the  waters." 

"  Well,  you  can't  kick  if  it  comes  back  a  ham 
sandwich,"  says  she.  "  Besides,  the  lots  stand 
in  your  name  now.  They  were  a  mile  out  of 
town  when  I  bought  'em ;  but  Brother  Phil  says 
the  city's  bulged  that  way  since.  They've  got 
the  boom,  you  know.  That's  where  we've  been 
sending  all  our  spare  salary.  Phil's  down  here 
to  see  us  open." 

"Eh!  "says  I.    "  Not  the  surveyor!  " 

"  He  still  does  some  of  that,"  says  she. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  says  I,  "  I  could  get  him 
to  do  a  little  stunt  for  me  while  he's  here?  ' 

"Do  I?  "  says  she.  "  Why,  he  knows  all 
about  it.  Brother  Phil  will  go  the  limit  for 
you." 

Uh-huh.  Philip  was  up  to  all  the  fine  points 
of  the  game,  and  the  imitation  he  gave  of  layin' 


HOW  MILLIE  SHOOK  THE  JINX      99 

out  a  two-million-dollar  factory  site  along 
Sucker  Brook  was  perfect,  even  to  loadin'  his 
transit  and  target  jugglers  into  a  tourin'  car 
right  in  front  of  the  Bockhurst  Trust  Company. 

Maybe  that's  how  it  come  to  be  noised 
around  that  the  Western  Electric  Company 
was  goin'  to  locate  a  big  plant  on  the  tract. 
Anyway,  before  night  I  had  three  of  the  syndi- 
cate biddin'  against  each  other  confidential;  but 
when  Elisha  P.  runs  it  up  to  four  figures,  of- 
ferin'  to  meet  me  at  the  station  with  a  certified 
check,  I  closes  the  deal  with  a  bang. 

"  Swifty,"  says  I,  hangin'  up  the  'phone, 
"  trot  around  to  the  Casino  and  get  a  lower 
box  for  to-night,  while  I  find  a  florist's  and 
order  an  eight-foot  horseshoe  of  American 
beauties." 

"  Chee!  "  says  Swifty,  gawpin'.  "  What 'a 
doin'?  " 

"I'm  tryin'  to  celebrate  a  doubleheader," 
says  L 


CHAPTER  VII 

REVERSE   ENGLISH   ON   SONNY  BOY 

"  Do  you  know,  Shorty,"  says  J.  Bayard 
Steele,  balancin'  his  bamboo  walkin'  stick 
thoughtful  on  one  forefinger,  "  I'm  getting  to 
be  a  regular  expert  in  altruism. ' ' 

"  Can't  you  take  something  for  it?  "  says  I. 

But  he  waves  aside  my  comedy  stab  and 
proceeds,  chesty  and  serious,  "  Really,  I  am, 
though.  It's  this  philanthropic  executor  work 
that  I've  been  dragged  into  doing  by  that 
whimsical  will  of  your  friend,  the  late  Pyramid 
Gordon,  of  course.  I  must  admit  that  at  first  it 
came  a  little  awkward,  not  being  used  to  think- 
ing much  about  others;  but  now — why,  I'm 
getting  so  I  can  tell  almost  at  a  glance  what 
people  want  and  how  to  help  them!  " 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Then  you're  some  wiz- 
ard. It  often  bothers  me  to  dope  out  just  what 
I  need  myself;  and  when  it  comes  to  decidin' 
for  other  folks Say,  have  you  tackled  en- 
velope No.  4  on  Pyramid's  list  yet?  ' 

"  I  have,"  says  J.  Bayard,  smilin'  confident. 
"  Peculiar  case  too.  A  month  or  so  ago  I 
should  have  been  puzzled.  Now  it  seems  very 
simple.  I've  done  all  my  investigating,  made 

100 


REVERSE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY   101 

my  plans,  and  if  you  will  run  downtown  to  a 
lawyer's  office  with  me  after  luncheon  we  shall 
meet  the  beneficiaries-to-be  and  fix  up  the  de- 
tails of  a  nice  little  deed  of  kindness  of  which 
I  am  the  proud  author. ' ' 

"  Fat  commission  in  it  for  you,  eh  I  "  says  I. 

J.  Bayard  looks  pained  and  hurt.  "  Really," 
says  he,  "  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  No,  the 
outlay  will  be  slight.  In  fact,  it's  merely  a  mat- 
ter of  launching  a  young  man  in  society." 

"  Well,  well!  "  says  I.  "  That's  a  husky  job 
for  a  couple  of  grown  men  like  us,  ain't  it! 
Who's  the  young  gent — Clarence  what?  " 

"  Ever  hear  of  Hungry  Jim  Hammond?  " 
says  he. 

I  had,  but  couldn't  quite  place  him;  so  J. 
Bay,ard  supplies  the  description.  He'd  started 
out  as  a  railroad  man,  Hammond  had,  back  in 
the  days  when  Pyramid  Gordon  was  first  be- 
ginnin'  to  discover  that  swappin'  hot  air  for 
votin'  shares  was  perfectly  good  business  so 
long  as  you  could  get  away  with  the  goods. 
Only  Hammond  was  the  real  thing.  He  was  a 
construction  expert. 

Mr.  Gordon  had  found  him  on  the  payroll  of 
a  line  he'd  annexed  by  a  midnight  deal;  con- 
cluded he  knew  too  much  about  the  job  to  be  a 
safe  man  to  have  around;  so  he  transfers  him 
to  the  Far  West  and  sets  him  to  work  on  a 
scheme  to  lay  out  a  road  parallelin'  the  South- 
ern Pacific.  Hammond  couldn't  tell  it  was  a 
stall.  He  blazes  merrily  ahead  surveyin'  a 


i 


102      SHORTY  MoCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

right  of  way  across  three  States,  and  had  got 
as  far  as  Death  Valley  when  the  rumor  comes 
to  camp  that  this  new  line  is  all  a  fake. 

Hammond  had  a  gang  of  twenty-five  or  thirty 
men  with  him,  and  his  weekly  pay  check  hadn't 
shown  up  for  about  a  month.  But  he  couldn't 
believe  that  Pyramid  had  laid  down  on  him. 
He'd  got  mighty  int 'rested  in  buildin'  that  road 
across  the  desert,  and  had  dreamed  some  rosy 
dreams  about  it.  But  his  men  felt  diff'rent. 
They  wanted  action  on  the  cashier's  part,  or 
they'd  quit.  Hammond  begged  'em  to  stay. 
He  even  blew  in  his  own  bank  account  settlin' 
part  of  the  back  wages.  But  inside  of  three 
days  his  crew  had 'dwindled  to  a  Chinese  cook 
and  a  Greaser  mule  driver.  Took  him  a  couple 
of  weeks  more  to  get  wise  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  stranded  there  in  the  sand,  six  miles  from 
a  water  hole,  with  a  few  cases  of  canned  beef 
and  a  sack  of  corn  meal. 

Even  then  he  didn't  give  up  for  good.  He 
made  his  way  back  to  a  stage  station  and  sent 
through  a  wire  to  Pyramid  askin'  for  instruc- 
tions. More  than  a  month  he  waited,  with  no 
word  from  Gordon.  Seems  that  by  then  Pyra- 
mid was  too  busy  with  other  things.  He'd 
cashed  in  on  his  bluff  and  was  sortin'  a  new 
hand.  And  maybe  he  wa'n't  anxious  to  have 
Hammond  come  East  again.  Anyway,  he  let 
Mm  shift. 

That  was  when  Hammond  came  so  near 
starvin'.  But  he  didn't — quite.  For  a  year  or 


EEVEESE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY   103 

more  lie  managed  to  live  somehow.  Then  one 
day  he  drove  a  team  of  boneyard  mules  into 
Blue  Dog  with  a.wagonload  of  stuff  that  the 
natives  stared  at.  It  was  white,  shiny  stuff. 
Hammond  said  it  was  borax.  He'd  discovered 
a  big  deposit  of  it  out  there  in  the  blisterin' 
sand.  He  was  goin'  to  ship  it  back  East  and 
sell  it.  They  thought  he  was  nutty.  He  wasn't, 
though.  On  East  they  was  usin'  a  lot  of  borax 
and  demandin'  more. 

With  a  few  thousand  back  of  him  Hammond 
might  have  got  to  be  the  Borax  King  right 
then ;  but  as  it  was  he  held  onto  an  interest  big 
enough  to  make  him  quite  a  plute,  and  inside  of 
a  year  he  was  located  in  Denver  and  earnin' 
his  nickname  of  Hungry  Jim.  His  desert  ap- 
petite had  stayed  with  him,  you  see,  and  such 
little  whims  as  orderin'  a  three-inch  tenderloin 
steak  frescoed  with  a  pound  of  mushrooms  and 
swimmin'  in  the  juice  squeezed  from  a  pair  of 
canvasback  ducks  got  to  be  a  reg'lar  thing  for 
him. 

It  was  there  he  met  and  married  the  husky 
built  head  waitress  and  moved  into  a  double- 
breasted  mansion  up  on  Capitol  Hill.  Also  he 
begun  wearin'  diamond  shirtstuds  and  givin' 
wine  dinners. 

"  But,  like  others  of  his  kind,"  goes  on  J. 
Bayard,  "  his  luck  didn't  last.  Because  he'd 
made  one  big  strike,  he  thought  he  knew  the 
mining  game  from  top  to  bottom.  He  lost 
hundreds  of  thousands  on  wild  ventures.  His 


104      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

long  drawn  out  suit  against  Pyramid  was  an- 
other expensive  luxury ;  for  in  the  end  Gordon 
beat  him. 

"  It  was  Hammond's  big  appetite  that 
finished  him  off,  though, — acute  indigestion. 
So  that  is  why  Pyramid  leaves  us  this  item  in 
his  list : '  The  widow  or  other  survivor  of  James 
B.  Hammond.'  Well,  I've  found  them  both, 
Mrs.  Hammond  and  her  son  Eoyce.  I  haven't 
actually  seen  either  of  'em  as  yet;  but  I  have 
located  Mrs.  Hammond's  attorney  and  had  sev- 
eral conferences  with  him.  And  what  do  you 
think?  She  won't  take  a  dollar  of  Gordon's 
money  for  herself;  nor  will  Eoyce  directly. 
There's  one  thing,  however,  that  she  will  prob- 
ably not  refuse, — any  social  assistance  we  may 
give  to  her  son.  That's  her  chief  ambition,  it 
seems, — to  see  Eoyce  get  into  what  she  con- 
siders smart  society.  Well,  what  do  you  say, 
McCabe?  Can't  we  help?  " 

"  Depends  a  good  deal  on  Eoyce,"  says  I. 
11  Course,  if  he's  too  raw  a  roughneck " 

"  Precisely!  "  breaks  in  J.  Bayard.  "  And 
as  the  son  of  such  a  man  we  must  look  for 
rather  a  crude  youth,  I  suppose.  But  in  order 
to  carry  out  the  terms  of  Gordon's  will  we  must 
do  some  kind  and  generous  act  for  these  people. 
This  seems  to  be  our  only  chance.  Now  here  is 
my  plan. ' ' 

And  he's  comin'  on,  J.  Bayard  is!  He  pro- 
poses that  we  use  our  combined  pull  with  Mr. 
Twombley-Crane  to  land  Eoyce — for  one  con- 


EEVERSE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY   105 

secutive  night,  anyway — plunk  in  the  middle  of 
the  younger  set.  He's  leased  a  nice  furnished 
cottage  from  one  of  the  Meadowbrook  bunch, 
not  more'n  a  mile  from  the  Twombley-Crane 
estate,  got  the  promise  of  havin'  the  young- 
ster's name  put  up  at  the  Hunt  Club  for  the 
summer  privileges,  and  has  arranged  to  have 
mother  and  son  move  in  right  in  the  height  of 
the  season. 

"  In  time  for  the  Twombley-Cranes'  big  cos- 
tume ball?  "  I  suggests. 

"  Nothing  less,"  says  he.  "  And  if  we  could 
manage  to  have  them  invited  to  that — well, 
what  more  could  a  fond  parent  ask?  " 

"H-m-m-m!"  says  I,  rubbin'  my  chin. 
"  Might  get  ourselves  disliked  if  we  sprung  a 
ringer  on  'em  that  way.  Course,  if  this  Eoyce 
boy  could  be  trained  to  pull  a  broad  A  now  and 
then,  and  be  drilled  into  doin'  a  maxixe  that 
would  pass,  I  might  take  a  chance.  Mrs.  Mc- 
Cabe  could  get  their  names  on  the  guest  list,  all 
right.  But  I'd  have  to  have  a  peek  at  Sonny 
first." 

You  see,  with  an  ex-waitress  mother,  and  a 
Hungry  Jim  for  a  father,  Koyce  might  be  too 
tough  for  anything  but  a  Coney  Island  spiel- 
fest.  In  that  case  J.  Bayard  would  have  to  dig 
up  a  new  scheme.  So  we  starts  out  to  look  'em 
up. 

Accordin'  to  schedule  we  should  have  found 
'em  both  waitin'  for  us  at  the  lawyer's,  sittin' 
side  by  side  and  lookin'  scared.  But  the 


106      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

boy  that  shows  us  into  the  reception  room 
says  how  Mrs.  Hammond  is  in  the  private 
office  with  the  boss,  and  it  looks  like  Sonny 
was  late. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  says  I  to  J.  Bayard.  "  You 
push  in  and  interview  Mother,  while  I  stick 
around  out  here  and  wait  for  the  other  half  of 
the  sketch." 

He  agrees  to  that,  and  has  disappeared  be- 
hind the  ground-glass  door  when  I  discovers 
this  slick-haired  young  gent  sittin'  at  a  desk 
over  by  the  window, — a  buddin'  law  clerk,  most 
likely.  And  by  way  of  bein'  sociable  I  remarks 
casual  that  I  hear  how  McGraw  is  puttin'  Tes- 
reau  on  the  mound  again  to-day  against  the 
Cubs. 

That  don't  get  much  of  a  rise  out  of  him. 
"  Aw,  rully!  "  says  he. 

"  I  expect  you'll  be  hikin'  out  for  the  grand- 
stand yourself  pretty  quick?  "  I  goes  on. 

11  No,"  says  he,  shruggin'  his  shoulders  an- 
noyed. "  I  take  no  interest  in  baseball;  none 
whatever,  I  assure  you." 

11  Excuse  my  mentionin'  it,  then,"  says  I. 
"  But  just  what  is  your  line, — croquet?  ' 

"  My  favorite  recreation,"  says  he,  "  is 
dawncing."  And  with  that  he  turns  away  like 
he'd  exhausted  the  subject. 

But  this  gives  me  an  idea.  Maybe  he  could 
be  hired  to  coach  Royce. 

"It's  a  thrillin'  sport,"  says  I.  "  And,  by 
the  way,  there's  a  young  chap  due  to  show  up 


REVERSE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY   107 

here  soon.  I  wonder  if  you've  seen  him  around 
before,— ^young  Hammond?  " 

* '  I  beg  pardon, ' '  says  he,  ' '  but  do  you  refer 
to  Royce  Hammond?  " 

"That's  the  guy,"  says  I.  "Kind  of  a 
husky  young  hick,  eh?  " 

He  stares  at  me  cold  and  disapprove '.  "  I 
am  Royce  Hammond!  "  says  he. 

You  could  have  bought  me  for  a  yesterday's 
rain  check.  "  Wha-a-at!  "  says  I,  gawpin*. 
"  You — you  are " 

Say,  come  to  look  him  over  close,  I  might 
have  known  he  was  no  ten-a-week  process 
server.  He's  costumed  neat  but  expensive,  and 
his  lily-white  hands  are  manicured  to  the  last 
notch.  Nice  lookin'  youth  he  is,  with  a  good 
head  on  him  and  a  fine  pair  of  shoulders.  And 
for  conversation  he  uses  the  kind  of  near-Eng- 
lish accent  you  hear  along  the  Harvard  Gold 
Coast.  Cul-chaw?  Why,  it  fairly  dripped  from 
Royce,  like  moisture  from  the  ice  water  tank 
on  a  hot  day! 

"  Excuse,"  says  I.  "I'm  Professor  Mc- 
Cabe,  and  I  was  only " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  he,  sighin'  weary,  "  I  un- 
derstand. Something  absurd  about  a  will,  isn't 
it!  Mother  is  quite  keen  over  it;  and  I  wish 
she  wouldn't,  you  know." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  a  bit  dizzy  from  tryin'  to 
follow  him. 

"  Oh,  I've  no  doubt  you  mean  well  enough," 
he  goes  on;  "  but  we  cawn't  accept  favors  from 


108      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

utter  strangers — really,  we  cawn't.     And  be- 
sides, old  Gordon  was  such  a  rotter!  " 

To  relieve  his  feelin's  he  lights  a  cigarette 
and  gives  me  the  shoulder  once  more.  I  felt 
like  I'd  been  slapped  on  the  wrist  and  sent  to 
stand  in  the  corner. 

"  Maybe  you'd  like  my  apology  in  writin'?  ' 
says  I.  "  Just  point  out  a  real  dusty  spot  on 
the  floor,  and  I'll  grovel  in  it.  But  remember, 
Son,  all  we  laid  out  to  do,  in  our  humble  way, 
was  to  give  you  a  boost.  So  don't  be  too  hard 
on  us." 

He  smiles  patronizin'  at  that.  "  No  offense 
intended,  I'm  suah,"  says  he.  "  I  merely 
wished  to  make  clear  my  own  position  in  this 
ridiculous  affair.  Of  course,  if  Mother  insists, 

I  presume  I  must Bah  Jove!    Here  they 

are,  though!  ' 

And  out  through  the  door  comes  J.  Bayard 
and  the  lawyer,  escortin'  a  stunnin '-built  lady 
with  her  face  half  hid  by  veils.  I'd  been  intro- 
duced too,  and  was  just  handin'  her  a  chair, 
when  we  got  a  good  square  look  at  each  other. 
So  it  was  simultaneous.  She  gives  a  little  gasp 
and  stiffens,  and  I  expect  I  did  some  open-face 
work  myself.  I  glances  from  her  to  J.  Bayard 
and  stares  foolish. 

"  Did  you  say  Mrs.  Hammond?  "  says  I. 

"  Of  course,  McCabe,"  says  he  sort  of  peev- 
ish. * '  You  know  I  explained  beforehand. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  says  I;  "  but— but " 

Then  the  lady  steps  to  the  front  herself,  her 


REVERSE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY   109 

chin  up  and  her  lips  pressed  tight.  "  Pro- 
fessor McCabe  and  I  have  met  before,"  says 
she,  "  under — well,  under  different  circum- 
stances. That  is  all.  And  now,  Mr.  Steele,  you 
spoke  of  securing  an  invitation  for  my  son  and 
myself  to  an  important  social  affair.  At  just 
whose  house,  please?  ' 

"  Why,"  says  J.  Bayard,  "  at  Mr.  Twom- 
bley-Crane  's. ' ' 

She  don't  wince.  Near  as  I  could  tell  she 
don't  make  a  move,  and  a  second  later  she's 
turned  to  me  with  a  sketchy  sort  of  a  smile. 
"  I  think  I  may  trust  you  to  explain  to  Mr. 
Steele  later  on,"  says  she,  "  how  impossible  it 
would  be  for  me  to  accept  such  an  invitation." 

I  nods,  still  gawpin'  at  her.  You'd 'most 
thought  that  would  have  been  hint  enough  for 
J.  Bayard;  but  he's  such  a  fathead  at  times,  and 
he's  so  strong  for  carryin'  through  any  propo- 
sition of  his  own,  that  it  don't  get  to  him. 

"  But,  my  dear  lady,"  says  he,  "  such  an 
opportunity!  Why,  the  Twombley-Cranes,  you 
know,  are " 

"  Ah,  ditch  it,  J.  B. !  "  I  cuts  in,  and  shakes 
my  head  menacin'. 

The  lady  smiles  grateful  and  lifts  one  hand. 
11  It's  no  use,"  says  she.  "  I've  given  up. 
And  you  might  as  well  know  the  whole  story  at 
once;  Royce  too.  I  didn't  mean  that  he  should 
ever  know;  but  I  see  now  that  he  is  bound  to 
hear  it  sooner  or  later.  Professor  McCabe,  you 
tell  them." 


110      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

It's  some  attentive  audience  I  faced  too;  J. 
Bayard  starin'  puzzled,  the  lawyer  with  his 
eyes  squinted  hard  at  her,  and  young  Royce 
growin'  pale  around  the  gills.  It  was  that  look 
of  his  that  hurried  me  on. 

"  Why,  it  ain't  so  much,"  says  I;  "  only) 
when  I  knew  you  you  was  housekeeper  at  the 
Twombley-Cranes,  wa'n't  you?  " 

11  Mother!  "  says  the  young  gent  choky, 
jumpin'  to  his  feet. 

"  I  was,"  says  she.  "  That  was  four  years 
ago,  when  Royce  was  a  freshman.  Very  glad  I 
was  to  get  the  position  too,  and  not  a  little 
pleased  that  I  was  able  to  fill  it.  Why?  Be- 
cause it  gave  me  a  chance  to  learn  there  the 
things  I  wanted  to  know ;  the  things  I  needed  to 
know,  Royce,  as  your  mother." 

But  he  only  gazes  at  her  blank  and  shocked. 

"  Can't  you  understand,  Royce?  "  she  goes 
on  pleadin'.  "  You  know  how  we  have  moved 
from  place  to  place;  how  at  times  my  cards 
have  read  '  Mrs.  James  R.  Hammond,'  then 
*  Mrs.  J.  Royce  Hammond,'  and  finally  '  Mrs. 
Royce  Hammond  '  ?  But  it  was  all  useless.  Al- 
ways someone  came  who  knew,  and  after  that — 
well,  I  was  just  the  widow  of  Hungry  Jim  Ham- 
mond. 

"  Not  that  I  cared  for  myself.  I  was  never 
ashamed  of  Hungry  Jim  while  he  lived.  He 
was  a  real  man,  Jim  Hammond  was,  honest  and 
kind  and  brave.  And  if  he  was  crude  and 
rough,  it  was  only  because  he'd  lived  that  way, 


REVERSE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY   111 

because  he'd  had  to.  He  let  them  call  him 
Hungry  Jim  too.  No  one  ever  knew  him  to 
resent  it.  But  it  hurt,  just  the  same.  He  tried 
to  live  it  down,  there  in  Denver,  tried  to  be 
refined  and  polite ;  but  those  years  in  the  desert 
couldn't  be  wiped  out  so  easily.  He  was  Hun- 
gry Jim  to  the  last. 

"  He  wanted  his  son  to  be  different,  though. 
*  Outfit  him  to  travel  with  the  best,  Annie,'  he 
used  to  say  to  me  during  those  last  days,  '  and 
see  that  he  gets  on  a  polish.  Promise,  now !  '  I 
promised.  And  I've  done  as  well  as  I  could. 
I've  lived  for  that.  But  I  soon  found  that  real 
refinement  was  something  you  couldn't  order  at 
the  store.  I  found  that  before  I  could  get  it  for 
Royce  I  must  have  at  least  a  speaking  acquaint- 
ance with  it  myself. 

"  That  meant  associating  with  nice  people. 
But  nice  people  didn't  care  to  mix  with  Mrs. 
Jim  Hammond.  I  didn't  blame  them  for  shut- 
ting their  front  doors  to  me.  I  had  to  get  in, 
though.  So  I  slipped  in  by  the  back  way — as 
housekeeper.  I  kept  my  eyes  and  ears  open.  I 
picked  up  their  little  tricks  of  speech  and  man- 
ner, their  ways  of  doing  things.  I  toned  my 
voice  down,  schooled  myself,  until  I  knew  the 
things  that  Royce  ought  to  know.  It  wasn't 
easy,  especially  the  giving  him  up  during  his 
holidays  and  sending  him  off  with  his  college 
friends,  when  I  wanted  him  to  be  with  me.  Oh, 
how  much  I  did  miss  him  those  two  summers ! 
But  I  had  promised  Jim,  and — and — well,  I 


112      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

think  I've  made  of  Royce  what  he  wanted  me 
to  make  of  him."  ; 

Somehow  or  other,  as  she  stops,  we  all  turns 
towards  young  Hammond.  His  face  ain't  pale 
any  more.  It's  well  pinked  up. 

"  By  Jove!  "  says  J.  Bayard  enthusiastic. 
"  But  that's  what  I  call  real  pluck,  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond. And  your  son  does  you  credit  too.  So 
what  if  the  Twombley-Cranes  might  remember 
you  as  a  former  housekeeper?  They  don't 
know  the  young  man,  needn't  know  just  who  he 
is.  Why  not  accept  for  him?  Why  not  give 
him  a  chance?  What  do  you  say,  McCabe?  " 

"Sure!'  says  I.  "I'm  backin'  him  to 
qualify. ' ' 

1 1  It  might  mean, ' '  goes  on  J.  Bayard  insimi- 
atin',  "  an  opportunity  to — well,  to  meet  the 
right  girl,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Hammond  draws  in  her  breath  sharp 
and  clasps  her  hands  tight.  I  could  see  the  pic- 
ture she  was  watchin'  on  the  screen, — Royce 
and  a  real  swell  young  lady  plutess  trippin' 
towards  the  altar;  maybe  a  crest  on  the  fam'ly 
note  paper. 

"  Oh !  "  says  she.  ' l  And  he  should  have  the 
chance,  shouldn't  he?  Well  then,  he  must  go. 
And  you  can  just  leave  me  out." 

That  seemed  to  settle  it,  and  we  was  all  takin' 
a  deep  breath,  when  Royce  steps  to  the  center 
of  the  stage.  He  puts  his  arm  gentle  around, 
Mrs.  Hammond  and  pats  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Sorry,  Mother,"  says  he,  "  but  I'm  going 


REVERSE  ENGLISH  ON  SONNY  BOY   113 

to  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  You're  an  old  dear, 
and  the  best  mother  a  boy  ever  had.  I  never 
knew  how  much  you  had  given  up  for  me,  never 
dreamed.  But  from  now  on  it's  going  to  be 
different.  It's  my  turn  now!  " 

"  But — but,  Royce,"  protests  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond, "  you — you  don't  quite  understand.  We 
can't  go  on  living  as  we  have.  Our  income  isn't 
so  much  as  it  was  once,  and " 


<  i 


I  know,"  said  Royce.  "  I  had  a  talk  with 
your  attorney  last  week.  It's  the  fault  of  that 
Honduras  rubber  plantation,  where  most  of  our 
funds  are  tied  up.  That  Alvarez,  your  rascally 
Spanish  superintendent,  has  been  robbing  you 
right  and  left.  Well,  I'm  going  to  put  a  stop 
to  that." 

"  You,  Royce!  "  says  Mother. 

"  Yes,"  says  he  quiet  but  earnest,  "I'm  go- 
ing down  there  and  fire  him.  I'm  going  to  run 
the  plantation  myself  for  awhile." 

"  Why,  Royce!  "  gasps  Mrs.  Hammond. 

He  smiles  and  pats  her  on  the  shoulder  again. 
11  I  know,"  he  goes  on.  "  I  seem  useless 
enough.  I've  been  trained  to  shine  at  dinner 
parties,  and  balls,  and  tlies  dansants.  I  sup- 
pose I  can  too.  And  I've  learned  to  sound  my 
final  G's,  and  to  use  the  right  forks,  and  how 
to  make  a  parting  speech  to  my  hostess.  So 
you've  kept  your  promise  to  Father.  But  I've 
been  thinking  it  all  over  lately.  That  isn't  the 
sort  of  person  I  want  to  be.  You  say  Father 
was  a  real  man.  I  want  to  be  a  real  man  too.  I 


114      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

mean  to  try,  anyway.  This  little  affair  with 
Alvarez  ought  to  test  me.  They  say  he's  rather 
a  bad  one,  that  he  can't  be  fired.  We'll  see 
about  that.  There's  a  steamer  for  Belize  next 
Thursday.  I'm  going  to  sail  on  her.  Will  you 
go  along  too?  " 

For  a  minute  they  stood  there,  Mother  and 
Sonny  boy,  gazin'  into  each  other's  eyes  with- 
out savin'  a  word;  and  then — well,  we  turns 
our  backs  as  they  goes  to  a  clinch  and  Mother 
turns  on  the  sprinkler. 

But  J.  Bayard's  programme  for  helpin' 
Boyce  break  into  the  younger  set  is  bugged  for 
fair.  Instead  we  've  dug  up  an  expert  in  rubber 
farmin'  and  are  preparin'  to  send  him  down  as 
first  assistant  to  the  classiest  plantation  man- 
ager that  ever  started  for  Honduras.  Mrs. 
Hammond  announces  that  she's  goin'  too. 

"  There's  good  stuff  in  that  young  chap," 
says  J.  Bayard.  "  He  isn't  the  son  of  Hungry 
Jim  for  nothing.  I'll  bet  he  wins  out!  " 

"  Win  or  lose,"  says  I,  "  he's  ducked  bein'  a 
parlor  rat  for  life,  which  is  something." 


CHAPTER  VIH 

GUMMING   GOPHER   TO   THE   MAP 

I'D  heard  the  front  office  door  pushed  open 
and  listened  to  a  couple  of  heavy  steps  on  the 
floor  runner  before  I  glances  round  to  find  this 
high  party  with  the  wide,  stooped  shoulders  and 
the  rugged  face  standin'  there  beamin'  at  me 
genial  and  folksy.  In  one  hand  he  has  a  green 
cloth  bag  with  somethin'  square  in  it,  and  in 
the  other  he  has  a  broad-brimmed  soft  hat 
about  the  color  of  Camembert  cheese.  A  tank 
station  delegate  and  no  mistake! 

11  The  Horse  Dealers'  Exchange  is  over  east 
of  Fourth  avenue,  about  eight  blocks  down," 
says  I. 

He  chuckles  good-natured  and  shakes  his 
head.  "  You  got  two  more  comin'  to  you, 
Brother,"  says  he. 

"  Is  it  sawmill  machinery  you're  lookin'  for, 
then, ' '  says  I,  "  or  the  home  office  of  Marriage 
Bells?  " 

11  Struck  out!  "  says  he.  "  Now  it's  my  bat. 
Are  you  J.  Bayard  Steele,  Mister!  ' 

"  Honest,  now,"  says  I,  "  do  I  look  it!  " 

"  Then  I  reckon  you're  the  other  one — Pro- 
fessor McCabe,"  says  he. 

115 


116      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

1 1  Line  hit  over  center  field !  ' '  says  I. 
"  What's  the  follow  up  to  that?  " 

"  No  hurry,"  says  he.  "  Have  a  button 
first." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  gawpin',  as  he  tosses  the 
green  bag  and  yellow  lid  onto  a  chair,  dives  into 
his  side  pocket,  and  proceeds  to  pin  something 
on  my  coat  lapel. 

"  Plenty  of  'em,"  says  he.  "  Here,  take 
some  for  your  friends.  How's  that  for  a 
slogan,  anyway?  '  Go  to  Gopher!  '  Good  ad- 
vice too.  Gopher's  the  garden  spot  of  the  uni- 
verse. ' ' 

"  Gopher  what — where  is  it?  "  says  I. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  Gopher,  U.S. A.  That's 
the  idea!  I'm  from  there.  Hubbs  is  the  name, 
— Nelson  Hubbs,  secretary  of  the  Gopher 
Board  of  Trade, — and  I  never  miss  a  chance  to 
give  Gopher  a  boost." 

"  If  this  is  a  sample,"  says  I,  "  you  don't 
need  to  make  an  affidavit.  But  you  wanted  to 
see  J.  Bayard  Steele,  didn't  you?  " 

It  was  as  I'd  suspicioned.  Mr.  Hubbs  was 
No.  5  on  the  kindly  deeds  list  that  Pyramid 
Gordon  had  wished  on  Steele  and  me.  We  was 
to  apply  soothin'  acts  and  financial  balm  to 
all  the  old  grouches  that  Pyramid  had  left 
behind  him,  you  remember,  on  a  commission 
basis. 

Seems  J.  Bayard  had  been  tracin'  Hubbs,  up 
by  mail  for  more'n  a  month,  and  at  that  it  was 
just  by  chance  one  of  his  letters  had  been  for- 


GUMMING  GOPHEE  TO  THE  MAP    117 

warded  to  the  right  place.  So  Hubbs  had  come 
on  to  see  what  it  was  all  about. 

"  Course,"  says  he,  "I  remember  this  Gor- 
don; but  I  didn't  think  he  would  me,  and  I 
can't  see  how  settlin'  up  his  will  could " 

"  Threw  the  hooks  into  you  sometime  or 
other,  didn't  he?  "  says  I. 

"  I  dun 'no's  you'd  rightly  call  it  that, 
either,"  says  Hubbs,  runnin'  his  long  fingers 
reflective  through  his  heavy  mop  of  wavy  hair. 
"  I  was  station  agent  and  dispatcher  out  at 
Kayuse  Creek  the  only  time  we  met  up — and 
of  all  the  forsaken,  dreary,  one-mule  towns 
along  the  line  that  was  the  worst.  I'd  been 
there  a  year  and  a  half,  with  no  signs  of  ever 
gettin'  out,  and  I'd  got  so  I  hated  every  human 
being  in  sight,  includin'  myself.  I  even  hated 
the  people  in  the  trains  that  went  through,  be- 
cause they  was  goin'  somewhere,  and  I  wasn't. 
You  know  how  it  is." 

"Well?"  says  I. 

"  So  when  this  special  pulled  in,  two  private 
cars  and  a  blind  baggage,"  he'goes  on,  "  and  a 
potty  conductor  asked  me  for  a  clear  track  to 
Omaha,  I  turned  him  down  flat.  Might  of  done 
it,  you  know,  for  the  express  was  four  hours 
behind  schedule;  but  I  was  just  too  ornery.  I 
let  on  I  hadn't  got  the  order,  made  'em  back 
their  old  special  on  a  siding,  and  held  'em  there 
all  one  blisterin'  hot  afternoon,  while  they  come 
in  by  turns  and  cussed  me.  But  your  Mr.  Gor- 
don was  the  only  one  that  talked  straight  to  the 


118      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

point.  *  Let  us  through,  or  I'll  see  that  you're 
fired  before  morning!  '  says  he,  and  fired  I 
was.  The  night  freight  dropped. a  new  agent, 
and  by  breakfast  time  I  was  a  wanderer  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  Which  was  the  best  thing, 
Sir,  that  ever  happened  to  me!  I  might  have 
stuck  in  Kayuse  Creek  until  this  day." 

"  How  long  was  it  until  you  discovered  this 
Gopher  spot?  "  says  I.  "  Near  a  dozen  years," 
says  he,  "  and  during  that  time,  Sir,  I've  had 
a  whirl  at  more  different  kinds  of  industry  than 
you'd  believe  existed,  from  runnin'  a  self- 
binder  to  canvassin'  for  the  Life  of  James  A. 
Garfield.  It  was  Possum  Oil  that  brought  me 
good  luck.  Boiled  linseed  with  camphor  and  a 
little  tincture  of  iron  was  what  it  was  really 
made  of;  but  there  was  a  'possum  picture  on 
the  label,  and  I've  had  testimonials  provin'  that 
it  has  cured  nearly  every  disease  known  to  man, 
from  ringworm  to  curvature  of  the  spine.  I'd 
worked  up  a  fifteen-minute  spiel  too  that  was  a 
gem  of  street  corner  eloquence,  and  no  matter 
where  I  stuck  up  my  flare  I  could  do  an  even- 
in 's  business  runnin'  from  ten  to  forty  dollars. 

"  So  when  I  hit  them  corn  fritters  of  Mrs. 
Whipple's  that  night  in  Gopher  I  had  no  more 
notion  of  quittin'  the  road  than  a  prairie  chicken 
has  of  breakin'  into  a  hencoop.  But  say, 
Brother,  no  human  being  ever  made  tastier 
corn  fritters  than  them.  *  Young  lady,'  says  I 
to  the  half-grown  girl  that  waited  on  table, 
*  who  built  these?  ' — '  Mrs.  Whipple,'  says  she. 


GUMMING  GOPHER  TO  THE  MAR  119 

'  Present  my  best  compliments  to  her,'  says  I, 
1  and  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Mr.  Whipple.  I 
want  to  congratulate  him.' — *  Lawzee!  Whip- 
pie?  '  says  she.  '  Why,  he  died  back  East  goin' 
on  six  years  ago.' — '  Then,'  says  I,  '  I'll  take 
the  message  to  Mrs.  Whipple  myself.  She's 
around,  I  suppose?  ' — '  No,'  says  the  girl. 

*  Soon's  she  got  supper  ready  she  had  to  go 
down  to  the  square  'lectioneerin'.    She's  run- 
nin'  for  Mayor.' 

"  Say,  Professor  McCabe,  it  was  a  fact!  Be- 
sides conductin'  her  boardin'  house  and  bein' 
president  of  the  Civic  League,  she  was  candi- 
date for  Mayor  on  an  independent  ticket.  Got 
it  too,  Sir!  They  have  the  vote  out  in  our 
State,  you  know. 

"  Well,  hearin'  that  sort  of  cooled  me  down 
a  bit.  I  thought  she'd  be  a  hatchet-faced  fe- 
male with  a  voice  like  a  guinea  hen.  So  I  didn  't 
see  her  until  I  was  all  packed  up  to  leave  next 
day  and  hunted  her  up  to  pay  my  bill.  And  say, 
Brother,  doggoned  if  she  don't  turn  out  to  be 
about  the  plumpest,  cheeriest,  winningest  little 
body  that  ever  I  see  unclaimed !  Nothin'  stand- 
offish about  her,  either.  *  There!  '  says  she. 

*  Look  at  you,  going  off  with  all  that  dandruff 
on  your  coat  collar!     Mamie,  bring  me  that 
whisk  broom.' — *  Ma'am,'  says  I,  when  she'd 
finished  the  job  and  added  a  little  pat  to  my 
necktie,  *  my  name  is  Hubbs.     It's  a  homely 
name,  and  I'm  a  homely  man ;  but  if  there's  any 
chance  of  ever  persuadin'  you  to  be  Mrs.  Nel- 


120      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

son  Hubbs,  I'll  stick  around  this  town  until  the 
crack  of  doom.' — '  Now  don't  be  foolish,'  says 
she.  *  Run  along.  I'm  busy.'  Wa'n't  so  en- 
couragin',  was  it?  *  Let's  see,'  says  I,  *  what 
place  is  this  anyhow?  ' — '  The  idea!  '  says  she. 
*  It's  Gopher;  and  let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Hubbs, 
some  day  it's  going  to  be  one  of  the  finest  cities 
west  of  Chicago!  ' — '  While  you're  in  it,'  says 
I,  '  it's  goin'  to  be  good  enough  for  me.  I'm 
goin'  to  stay  right  here.' 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  did,  Sir.  The  Gopher 
Gazette  was  for  sale,  and  inside  of  twenty-four 
hours  I'd  bought  it,  one-third  cash,  and  I've 
been  runnin'  it  ever  since.  And  I've  proposed 
to  Mrs.  Whipple  once  a  week  reg'lar  the  whole 
ten  months. ' ' 

11  Only  to  get  more  of  that  run-along-now 
advice?  "  says  I. 

He  winks  rapid  two  or  three  times  by  way  of 
relievin'  his  feelin's.  "  It  ain't  exactly  as  bad 
as  that,"  says  he.  "  I  reckon  she's  kind  of  got 
used  to  my  homely  face,  and  if  I  have  any  good 
points  at  all,  you  can  bet  she's  found  'em. 
Anyway,  one  night  a  couple  of  months  ago  she 
dropped  a  hint  that  was  like  manna  from  the 
sky.  I've  been  livin'  on  it  ever  since.  *  Nel- 
son,' says  she,  '  there's  only  one  man  I'd  have, 
and  that's  the  man  who  will  put  Gopher  on  the 
map.'  : 

11  Oh-ho!  "  says  I.    "  Hence  the  buttons?  " 

"  That's  only  part  of  my  scheme,"  says 
Hubbs.  "  The  rest  I  worked  out  between  the 


GUMMING  GOPHEK  TO  THE  MAP    121 

time  I  got  word  from  this  Mr.  Steele  and  the 
day  I  left  for  New  York.  Up  to  then  I  hadn't 
thought  of  comin'  East  to  boost  Gopher;  but 
the  letter  settled  me.  '  I'm  go  in'  on,'  says  I  to 
Mrs.  Whipple, '  and  if  Gopher  ain't  on  the  map 
when  I  come  back,  I'll  never  ask  you  again  to 
change  your  name  to  Hubbs.  I'll  change  mine 
to  Dubb!  '  So  you  see,  Professor,  I  ain't  got 
any  time  to  waste.  Where  can  I  find  Mr. 
Steele?  " 

I  gave  him  directions  for  locatin'  J.  Bayard, 
and  off  he  pikes,  swingin'  the  green  bag  jaunty 
in  one  big  paw.  He'd  been  here  ten  minutes, 
and  he'd  told  me  the  story  of  his  life.  Now  see 
what  Steele  gets  out  of  him. 

"  Shorty,"  says  J.  Bayard,  driftin'  in  lan- 
guid after  lunch  and  caressjn'  his  bank  presi- 
dent whiskers  approvin'  as  he  camps  down  by 
the  desk,  "  the  deeper  I  get  into  the  career  of. 
your  late  friend,  Pyramid  Gordon,  the  more  I 
am  amazed  at  the  infinite  pains  he  took  to  deal 
unjustly  with  so  many  different  persons  of  no 
account." 

"  All  of  which  means,  I  expect,"  says  I, 
"  that  you've  been  havin'  a  talk  with  Hubbs. 
Well,  what  you  goin'  to  do  for  him!  ' 

Mr.  Steele  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  He  is 
simply  impossible!  "  says  he. 

"  How's  that?  "  says  I. 

"  I  was  unable  to  decide,"  says  J.  Bayard, 
"  whether  he  was  mentally  unbalanced,  or  just 
plain  crank.  Comes  from  some  absurd  little 


122      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

hole  out  West,  and  has  but  one  idea  in  his  head, 
— to  boom  that  place.  Tried  to  pin  a  beastly 
button  on  me.  Ah!  I  see  you  have  one." 

1  '  Sure!"  says  I.  "  'Go  to  Gopher!' 
Catchy,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Bah!  "  says  he.  "  What  do  I  care  for  his 
little  two-by-four  village?  What  does  anyone 
care,  save  the  poor  wretches  who  must  live 
there?  And  yet  he  insisted  on  boring  me  for 
one  mortal  hour  with  his  preposterous  schemes. 
It  appears  that  he  has  raised  an  advertising 
fund  of  a  thousand  dollars,  and  means  to  open 
a  publicity  bureau  somewhere  downtown." 

"  Well,  that's  enterprisin',  ain't  it?  "  says  I. 

"  It's  imbecile!  "  says  J.  Bayard.  "  What 
can  he  do  with  a  thousand  in  New  York.  You 
might  as  well  try  to  sprinkle  Central  Park  with 
a  quart  watering  can.  I  told  him  so.  I  tried 
to  get  out  of  him  too  some  suggestion  as  to  how 
we  could  best  carry  out  the  terms  of  Gordon's 
crazy  will ;  some  kind  and  generous  act  that  we 
could  do  for  him,  you  know.  But  he  would 
talk  of  nothing  but  Gopher — everlastingly  and 
eternally  Gopher !  ' ' 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  that's  his  long  suit." 

"  And  do  you  know  what  he  thinks  he's  going 
to  do?"  goes  on  Steele.  "  Why,  he's  had  the 
nerve  to  plot  out  a  whole  quarter-section 
around  his  infernal  town,  organized  a  realty 
company,  and  had  half  a  million  dollars' 
worth  of  Gopher  Development  shares  printed! 
Thinks  he's  going  to  unload  trash  like  that  here 


GUMMING  GOPHEE  TO  THE  MAP    123 

in  New  York!    Now  what  can  I  do  for  such  a 
man?  " 

"Ain't  that  right  in  your  line,  though?  ' 
says  I. 

"  It  may  have  been  at  one  time,"  admits  J. 
Bayard;  "  but  to-day  you  couldn't  give  away 
nickel  chances  on  the  national  gold  reserve. 
The  market  is  dead.  Even  the  curb  brokers 
have  fallen  back  on  racing  tin  rolling  toys  and 
matching  quarters." 

"Well,  I  couldn't  dispute  it.  If  anyone  knows 
the  phony  finance  game  at  all,  it's  J.  Bayard 
Steele.  And  the  best  I  could  do  was  to  get  him 
to  agree  to  sort  of  keep  track  of  Hubbs  and 
maybe,  after  he'd  blown  all  his  cash  against 
this  bloomin'  stunt,  step  in  and  send  him  back 
to  Gopher  before  he  hit  the  bread  line. 

Must  have  been  a  week  that  I  didn't  hear 
from  either  of  'em,  and  then  here  the  other 
afternoon  J.  Bayard  calls  up  on  the  'phone. 

* '  Shorty, ' '  says  he,  1 1  if  you  want  to  see  our 
friend  Hubbs  reach  the  pinnacle  of  his  folly, 
come  down  to  Broad  street  right  away.  I'll 
meet  you  in  front  of  the  Hancock  National !  ' : 

As  there's  no  rush  on  at  the  studio  just  then 
I  goes  down. 

"It's  rich,"  says  Steele.  "  Actually,  that 
country  clown  is  trying  on,  right  here  in  New 
York,  the  same  primitive  methods  that  real  es- 
tate boomers  use  in  the  soggy  South  and  the 
woolly  West.  Would  you  believe  it?  Come 
have  a  look." 


124 

Well,  say,  it  wa'n't  easy  gettin'  near  enough, 
at  that.  But  we  works  our  way  through  the 
mob  until  we're  in  front  of  the  buildin',  where 
there 's  a  big,  yellow-lettered  sign  that  reads : 

GOPHER,  U.S.A. 

HEADQUARTERS 

Underneath  the  sign  was  a  big  window  with 
the  sash  out  and  a  sort  of  platform  juttin'  over 
the  sidewalk.  Just  as  we  arrives  out  steps 
Nelson  Hubbs,  wearin'  the  same  rube  rig 
and  carryin'  the  same  green  bag.  He  looks 
just  as  big  and  homely  and  good-natured  as 
ever. 

"  Friends,"  says  he,  sweepin'  off  the  alfalfa 
lid  with  a  flourish,  "  out  in  Gopher  we  always 
like  to  open  up  with  a  little  music;  and  while  I 
ain't  no  Caruso,  or  anything  like  that,  I'm 
goin'  to  do  my  best.'*  ( 

A  snicker  runs  through  the  crowd  at  that, 
turnin'  to  haw-haws  as  he  proceeds  to  unlimber 
something  from  the  green  bag.  It's  an  ac- 
cordion, one  of  these  push  and  pull  organs. 
Believe  me,  though,  he  could  sing  some! 
Throwin'  back  his  head  and  shakin'  that  heavy 
mop  of  hair,  he  roars  out  deep  and  strong  the 
first  advertisin'  solo,  I  guess,  that  New  York 
ever  heard. 

"  Now,  Friends,  everybody  in  on  the 
chorus!  "  he  calls.  "  Every-body!  Here  she 
goes! 


GUMMING  GOPHER  TO  THE  MAP    125, 

"  Oh,    I   want   to   go   to   Gopher — Gopher — 
Oh,  I  want  to  go  to  Gopher — Gopher! 
The  streets  are  straight,  the  sky  (is  high, 
You'll  strike  it  rich,  and  live  on  pie, 
You  can't  get  sick,  and  you  never  die, 
In  Gopher,.  U.  S.  A." 

Did  they  join  in?  Say,  it  was  a  swing-in' 
tune,  the  words  was  easy  to  follow,  and  the 
crowd  was  ready  for  anything.  They  simply 
cut  loose,  and  by  the  time  they'd  done  that 
chorus  two  or  three  times  he  had  'em  right 
with  him.  Then  he  springs  his  business 
spiel. 

Talk  about  your  boost  orations — say,  that 
was  a  classic!  He  tells  'em  confidential  how 
Gopher  is  the  comin'  metropolis  of  the  great 
West;  how,  "  with  its  main  boulevard  laid  out 
along  the  sinuous,  lovely  banks  of  the  pellucid 
Pinto  River,  and  its  western  boundaries  stretch- 
ing off  to  the  sunset-tinted  tops  of  Soup  Kettle 
Range,  it  has  a  scenic  setting  unsurpassed  any- 
where this  side  of  Switzerland."  And  when  it 
comes  to  predictin'  how  prosperity  has  picked 
Gopher  for  its  very  own,  he  goes  the  limit. 
Next  he  tells  'em  about  the  development  com- 
pany and  the  shares. 

"  Remember,  Friends,"  says  he,  "  every 
share  means  a  front  foot,  and  every  front  foot 
a  fortune.  Send  in  fifty  shares,  and  we'll  give 
you  a  deed  to  a  city  lot.  First  come  first  served, 
and  the  early  bird  laps  up  the  cream.  I  don't 
urge  you  to  buy  'em.  I'm  just  giving  you  a 
chance  to  get  in  on  the  ground  floor.  And  if 


126      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

you  don't  want  to  come  in  to-day,  maybe  you 
will  to-morrow.  Anyway,  have  a  button.  Wear 
it !  Tell  your  friends  about  Gopher.  Here  you 
are !  Every-body  have  a  button !  ' ' 

With  that  he  scatters  handful  after  handful 
broadcast  into  the  crowd,  which  catches  'em 
eager.  Even  J.  Bayard  gets  excited  and  grabs 
for  one. 

"  By  George,  Shorty!  "  says  he.  "  Hanged 
if  there  isn't  the  germ  of  a  good  idea  in  this 
scheme  of  his !  Every  share  a  front  foot !  And 
if  he  could  only  get  the  buying  started " 

Steele  is  gazin'  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd 
absentminded.  All  of  a  sudden  he  breaks  out 
again.  "  I  have  it!  "  says  he.  "  I'll  get  that 
curb  gang  to  fooling  with  Gopher. ' ' 

But,  foxy  as  he  was,  I  don't  believe  J.  Bayard 
knew  just  how  big  a  bonfire  he  was  touchin'  off. 
I  know  I  thought  he  was  nutty  when  he  wants 
me  to  O.K.  his  plan  for  buyin'  a  hundred  shares 
to  distribute  free. 

"Bait!"  says  he.  "They'll  bite!  You 
watch  'em!  " 

Well,  if  you've  been  followin'  the  market 
close,  you  know  what  happened.  I  expect  the 
first  bids  was  made  just  as  a  josh.  I  hear  that 
Gopher  Development  started  at  ten  cents. 
Then  someone  sold  a  block  at  fifteen.  By  noon 
they'd  gone  to  twenty.  Durin'  luncheon  time  a 
sporty  bunch  in  a  rathskeller  cooked  up  the 
bright  idea  that  it  would  be  humorous  to  sell 
Gopher  short  and  hammer  the  price  down  to 


X 


GUMMING  GOPHER  TO  THE  MAP    127 

five  cents.  Before  three  P.M.  the  gross  trans- 
actions had  run  into  the  thousands. 

I  was  in  Hubbs'  office  when  the  first  real 
money  was  paid  over  for  Gopher.  A  hook- 
nosed young  broker  in  a  shepherd  plaid  suit  and 
a  pink  felt  hat  rushes  in  and  planks  down 
twenty  dollars  for  fifty  shares  at  the  market. 
Hubbs  was  just  passin'  'em  over  too,  when 
Steele  interferes. 

"  Five  more,  please,"  says  J.  Bayard.  "  We 
are  holding  Gopher  at  50." 

"  Wha'd'ye  mean,  fifty?  "  gasps  the  curb 
man.  But  he  was  short  on  a  three-fifteen  de- 
livery, and  he  had  to  put  up  the  extra  five. 

"  Stick  to  that  rule,"  Steele  advises  Hubbs. 
11  Ask  'em  ten  points  more  than  outside  quota- 
tions." 

What  really  got  things  goin',  though,  was 
when  some  of  the  stock  clerks  and  bookkeepers, 
who'd  heard  and  talked  nothin'  but  Gopher 
these  last  two  days,  begun  buyin'  lots  outright 
and  turnin'  'em  in  for  deeds.  Whether  or  not 
they  believed  all  Hubbs  had  fed  'em  about 
Gopher  don't  matter.  They  was  takin'  a 
chance.  So  they  slips  out  at  noon  and  gives 
real  orders.  Course,  they  wa'n't  plungin';  but 
the  combined  effect  was  the  same. 

And  it  don't  take  the  curb  long  to  get  wise. 
"  The  suckers  are  buying  Gopher,"  was  the 
word  passed  round.  Then  maybe  the  quota- 
tions didn't  jump!  There  wa'n't  any  quarter 
matchin'  down  in  Broad  street  after  that. 


128      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

They  was  too  busy  yellin'  Gopher  at  each  other, 
Up  she  went, — 75,  then  85,  then  110,  and  when 
closin'  hour  come  the  third  day  it  was  the 
liveliest  scene  inside  the  ropes  that  the  margin 
district  had  known  in  years. 

I  expect  the  newspapers  helped  a  lot  too. 
They  had  a  heap  of  fun  with  Hubbs  and  his 
Gopher  proposition, — Hubbs  of  Gopher,  U.S.A. 
They  printed  pictures  of  him  playin'  the  ac- 
cordion, and  interviews  reproducin'  his  de- 
scriptive gems  about  * '  the  banks  of  the  pellucid 
Pinto,"  and  such. 

But  you  never  can  tell  how  a  comedy  stab  is 
goin'  to  turn  out.  This  game  of  buyin'  real 
estate  shares  for  a  dollar  or  so,  with  the  pros- 
pects that  before  night  it  might  be  worth  twice 
as  much,  was  one  that  hit  'em  hard.  By  Friday 
Gopher  stock  was  being  advertised  like  Steel 
preferred,  and  the  brokers  was  flooded  with 
buyin'  orders.  Some  of  the  big  firms  got  into 
the  game  too.  A  fat  German  butcher  came  all 
the  way  down  from  the  Bronx,  counted  out  a 
thousand  dollars  in  bills  to  Nelson  Hubbs,  and 
was  satisfied  to  walk  away  with  a  deed  for 
a  hundred  front  feet  of  Gopher  realty.  He 
wasn't  such  a  boob,  either.  Two  hours  later 
he  could  have  closed  out  five  hundred  to  the 
good. 

It  wa'n't  like  a  stock  flurry,  where  there's  an 
inside  gang  manipulatin'  the  wires.  All  the 
guidin'  hand  there  was  in  this  deal  was  that  of 
J.  Bayard  Steele,  and  he  contents  himself  with 


GUMMING  GOPHER  TO  THE  MAP    129 

eggin'  Hubbs  on  to  stand  firm  on  that  ten-cent 
raise. 

"  Not  a  penny  more,  not  a  penny  less,"  says 
he,  beamin'.  "  It'll  get  'em." 

And  I  don't  know  when  I've  seen  him  look 
more  contented.  As  for  Nelson  Hubbs,  he 
seems  a  little  dazed  at  it  all;  but  he  keeps  his 
head  and  smiles  good-natured  on  everybody. 
Not  until  Gopher  Development  hits  twenty-five 
dollars  a  share  does  he  show  any  signs  of  get- 
tin'  restless. 

"  Boys,"  says  he,  bangin'  his  fist  down  on 
the  desk,  "  it's  great!  I've  turned  that  thou- 
sand-dollar fund  into  fifty,  and  as  near  as  I  can 
figure  it  property  values  along  our  Main  street 
have  been  jumped  about  eight  hundred  per  cent. 
They've  heard  of  it  out  home,  and  they're  just 
wild.  I  expect  I  ought  to  stay  right  here  and 
push  things ;  but — well,  McCabe,  maybe  you  can 
guess." 

"  No  word  from  a  certain  party,  eh!  "  says  I. 

Hubbs  shakes  his  head  and  starts  pacin'  up 
and  down  in  front  of  the  window.  He  hadn't 
done  more'n  three  laps,  though,  before  in  fllows 
a  messenger  boy  and  hands  him  a  telegram. 

"  We-e-e-yow!  "  yells  Hubbs.  "  Hey, 
Shorty,  it's  come — doggoned  if  it  ain't  come! 
Look  at  that!  " 

It  was  a  brief  bulletin,  but  full  of  meat.  It 
runs  like  this : 

Good  work,  Nelson.    You've  done  it.    Gopher's  on  the  map. 


130      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

And  the  last  we  saw  of  Mm,  after  he  'd  turned 
the  stock  business  over  to  Mendell  &  Co.,  he 
was  pikin'  for  a  west-bound  train  with  his  grip 
in  one  fist  and  that  old  accordion  in  the  other. 

J.  Bayard  smiles  after  him  friendly  and  in- 
dulgent.   "  A  woman  in  the  case,  I  suppose?  ' 
says  he. 

"  Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  The  plumpest,  cheer- 
iest, winnin'est  little  body  ever  left  unclaimed, 
— his  description.  She's  the  lady  Mayor  out 
there.  And  if  I'm  any  judge,  with  them  two 
holdin'  it  down,  Gopher's  on  the  map  to  stay." 


WHAT  LINDY   HAD   UP   HER   SLEEVE 

"  BUT  think  of  it,  Shorty!  ' '  says  Sadie. 
11  What  an  existence!  " 

"  There's  plenty  worse  off  than  her,"  says 
I;  "  so  what's  the  use?  " 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  says  she.  "  Twenty 
years!  No  holidays,  no  home,  no  relatives: 
nothing  but  sew  and  mend,  sew  and  mend — and 
for  strangers,  at  that!  Talk  about  dull  gray 
lives — ugh!  " 

"  Well,  she's  satisfied,  ain't  she?  "  says  I. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it,"  says  Sadie.  "  She 
seems  to  live  for  her  work.  Goodness  knows 
how  early  she's  up  and  at  it  in  the  morning,  and 
at  night  I  have  to  drive  her  out  of  the  sewing 
room!  " 

"  And  you  kick  at  that?  "  says  I.  "  Huh! 
Why,  on  lower  Fifth-ave.  they  capitalize  such 
habits  and  make  'em  pay  for  fifteen-story  build- 
in 's.  Strikes  me  this  Lindy  of  yours  is  per- 
fectly good  sweatshop  material.  You  don't 
know  a  good  thing  when  you  see  it,  Sadie. ' ' 

"  There,  there,  Shorty!  "  says  she.  "  Don't 
try  to  be  comic  about  it.  There's  nothing  in 
the  least  funny  about  Lindy." 

131 


132      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

She  was  dead  right  too;  and  all  I  meant  by 
my  feeble  little  cracks  was  that  a  chronic  case 
of  acute  industry  was  too  rare  a  disease  for  me 
to  diagnose  offhand.  Honest,  it  almost  gave 
me  the  fidgets,  havin'  Lindy  around  the  house. 
Say,  she  had  the  busy  bee  lookin'  like  a  corner 
loafer  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets ! 

About  once  a  month  we  had  Lindy  with  us, 
for  three  or  four  days  at  a  stretch,  and  durin' 
that  time  she'd  be  gallopin'  through  all  kinds  of 
work,  from  darnin'  my  socks  or  rippin'  up  an 
old  skirt,  to  embroiderin'  the  fam'ly  monogram 
on  the  comp'ny  tablecloths;  all  for  a  dollar 'n  a 
half  per,  which  I  understand  is  under  union 
rates.  Course,  Sadie  always  insists  on  throwin' 
in  something  for  overtime;  but  winnin'  the 
extra  didn't  seem  to  be  Lindy 's  main  object. 
She  just  wanted  to  keep  goin',  and  if  the  work 
campaign  wa'n't  all  planned  out  for  her  to  cut 
loose  on  the  minute  she  arrived,  she'd  most 
have  a  fit.  Even  insisted  on  havin'  her  meals 
served  on  the  sewin'  table,  so  she  wouldn't  lose 
any  time.  Sounds  too  good  to  be  true,  don't  it? 
But  remember  this  ain't  a  class  I'm  describin': 
it's  just  Lindy. 

And  of  all  the  dried-up  little  old  maids  I  ever 
see,  Lindy  was  the  queerest  specimen.  Seems 
she  was  well  enough  posted  on  the  styles,  and 
kept  the  run  of  whether  sleeves  was  bein'  worn 
full  or  tight,  down  over  the  knuckles  or  above 
the  elbow,  and  all  that;  but  her  own  costume 
was  always  the  same, — a  dingy  brown  dress 


WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HER  SLEEVE  133 

that  fits  her  like  she'd  cut  it  out  in  the  dark 
and  had  put  it  together  with  her  eyes  shut, — a 
faded  old  brown  coat  with  funny  sleeves  that 
had  little  humps  over  the  shoulders,  and  a  dusty 
black  straw  lid  of  no  partic'lar  shape,  that 
sported  a  bunch  of  the  saddest  lookin'  violets 
ever  rescued  from  the  ashheap. 

Then  she  had  such  a  weird  way  of  glidin' 
around  silent,  and  of  shrinkin'  into  corners, 
and  flattenin'  herself  against  the  wall  whenever 
she  met  anyone.  Meek  and  lowly?  Say,  every 
motion  she  made  seemed  to  be  sort  of  a  dumb 
apology  for  existin'  at  all!  And  if  she  had  to 
go  through  a  room  where  I  was,  or  pass  me  in 
the  hall,  she'd  sort  of  duck  her  head,  hold  one 
hand  over  her  mouth,  and  scuttle  along  like  a 
mouse  beatin '  it  for  his  hole. 

You  needn't  think  I'm  pilin'  on  the  agony, 
either.  I  couldn't  exaggerate  Lindy  if  I  tried. 
And  if  you  imagine  it's  cheerin'  to  have  a 
human  being  as  humble  as  all  that  around, 
you're  mistaken.  Kind  of  made  me  feel  as  if  I 
was  a  slave  driver  crackin'  the  whip. 

And  there  wa'n't  any  special  reason  that  I 
could  see  for  her  actin'  that  way.  Outside  of 
her  clothes,  she  wa'n't  such  a  freak.  That  is, 
she  wa'n't  deformed,  or  anything  like  that. 
She  wa'n't  even  wrinkled  or  gray  haired; 
though  how  she  kept  from  growin'  that  way  I 
couldn't  figure  out.  I  put  it  down  that  her 
lonesome,  old  maid  existence  must  have  struck 
in  and  paralyzed  her  soul. 


134      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

There  was  another  queer  quirk  to  her  too. 
Work  up  as  much  sympathy  as  you  wanted  to, 
you  couldn't  do  anything  for  her.  Sadie  ain't 
slow  at  that,  you  know.  She  got  int 'rested  in 
her  right  off,  and  when  she  discovers  how  Lindy 
lives  in  a  couple  of  cheap  rooms  down  in  the 
Bronx  all  by  herself,  and  never  goes  anywhere 
or  has  any  fun,  she  proceeds  to  spring  her  usual 
uplift  methods.  Wouldn't  Lindy  like  a  ticket 
to  a  nice  concert?  No,  thanks,  Lindy  didn't 
care  much  about  music.  Or  the  theater?  No, 
Lindy  says  she's  afraid  to  go  trapesin'  around 
town  after  dark.  Wouldn't  she  quit  work  for 
an  hour  or  so  and  come  for  a  spin  in  the  car, 
just  to  get  the  air?  Lindy  puts  her  hand  over 
her  mouth  and  shakes  her  head.  Automobiles 
made  her  nervous.  She  tried  one  once,  and  was 
so  scared  she  couldn't  work  for  two  hours  after. 
The  subway  trains  were  bad  enough,  goodness 
knows ! 

I  couldn't  begin  to  tell  you  all  the  things 
Lindy  was  afraid  of, — crowds,  the  dark,  of  get- 
ting lost,  of  meetin'  strangers,  of  tryin'  any- 
thing new.  I  remember  seem'  her  once,  comin' 
out  on  the  train.  She's  squeezed  into  the  end 
seat  behind  the  door,  and  was  huddled  up  there, 
grippin'  a  little  black  travelin'  bag  in  one  hand 
and  a  rusty  umbrella  in  the  other,  and  keepin' 
her  eyes  on  the  floor,  for  all  the  world  like  she'd 
run  away  from  somewhere  and  was  stealin'  a 
ride.  Get  it,  do  you  ? 

But  wait !    There  was  one  point  where  Lindy 


WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HER  SLEEVE  135 

had  it  on  most  of  us.  She  knew  where  she  was 
goin'.  Didn't  seem  to  have  any  past  worth 
speakin'  about,  except  that  she'd  been  born  in 
England, — father  used  to  keep  a  little  store  on 
some  side  street  in  Dover, — and  she'd  come 
over  here  alone  when  she  was  quite  a  girl.  As 
for  the  present — well,  I've  been  tryin'  to  give 
you  a  bird's-eye  view  of  that. 

But  when  it  comes  to  the  future  Lindy  was 
right  there  with  the  goods.  Had  it  all  mapped 
out  for  twenty  years  to  come.  Uh-huh!  She* 
told  Sadie  about  it,  ownin'  up  to  bein'  near 
forty,  and  said  that  when  she  was  sixty  she 
was  goin'  to  get  into  an  Old  Ladies'  Home. 
Some  prospect — what?  She'd  even  picked  out 
the  joint  and  had  'em  put  her  name  down.  It 
would  cost  her  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
which  she  had  salted  away  in  the  savings  bank 
already,  and  now  she  was  just  driftin'  along 
until  she  could  qualify  in  the  age  limit.  Livin* 
just  for  that ! 

"  Ah,  can  the  gloom  stuff,  Sadie!  "  says  I 
as  she  whispers  this  latest  bulletin.  "  You 
give  me  the  willies,  you  and  your  Lindy !  Why, 
that  old  horse  chestnut  out  there  in  the  yard 
leads  a  more  excitin'  existence  than  that!  It's 
preparin'  to  leaf  out  again  next  spring.  But 
Lindy !  Bah !  Say,  just  havin'  her  in  the  house 
makes  the  air  seem  moldy.  I'm  goin'  out  and 
tramp  around  the  grounds  a  bit  before  dinner." 

That  was  a  good  hunch.  It's  a  clear,  crisp 
evenin'  outside,  with  the  last  red  of  the  sun 


136      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

just  showin'  in  the  northwest  and  a  thin  new 
moon  hangin'  over  Long  Island  Sonnd  off  in 
the  east,  and  in  a  couple  of  turns  I  shook  off 
the  whole  business.  I'd  taken  one  circle  and 
was  roundin'  the  back  of  the  garage,  when  I 
sees  something  dark  slip  into  a  tree  shadow  up 
near  the  house. 

"  That  you,  Dominick?  "  I  sings  out. 

There's  no  answer  to  that,  and,  knowin'  that 
if  there's  one  failin'  Dominick  don't  possess 
it's  bein'  tonguetied,  I  gets  suspicious.  Be- 
sides, a  couple  of  porch-climbin'  jobs  had  been 
pulled  off  in  the  neighborhood  recent,  and,  even 
though  I  do  carry  a  burglar  policy,  I  ain't 
crazy  about  havin'  strangers  messin'  through 
the  bureau  drawers  while  I'm  tryin'  to  sleep. 
So  I  sneaks  along  the  hedge  for  a  ways,  and 
then  does  the  sleuthy  approach  across  the  lawn 
on  the  right  flank.  Another  minute  and  I've 
made  a  quick  spring  and  has  my  man  pinned 
against  the  tree  with  both  his  wrists  fast  and 
my  knee  in  his  chest. 

11  Woof!  "  says  he,  deep  and  guttural. 

"  Excuse  the  warm  welcome,"  says  I,  "  but 
that's  only  a  sample  of  what  we  pass  out  to 
stray  visitors  like  you.  Sizin'  up  the  premises, 
were  you,  and  gettin'  ready  to  collect  a  few 
souvenirs?  " 

"  A  thousand  pardons,"  says  he,  "  if  I  have 
seem  to  intrude !  ' ' 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  That  wa'n't  exactly  the 
comeback  you'd  expect  from  a  second-story 


WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HER  SLEEVE  137 

worker,  and  he  has  a  queer  foreign  twist  to  his 
words. 

"It  is  possible,"  he  goes  on,  "  that  I  have 
achieved  the  grand  mistake." 

"  Maybe,"  says  I,  loosenin'  up  on  him  a 
little.  "  What  was  it  you  thought  you  was 
after?  " 

"  The  house  of  one  McCah-be,"  says  he,  "  a 
professor  of  fists,  I  am  told." 

"  That's  a  new  description  of  me,"  says  I, 
"  but  I'm  the  party.  All  of  which  don't  prove, 
though,  that  you  ain't  a  crook." 

"  Crook?  "  says  he.  "  Ah,  a  felon!  But  no, 
Effendi.  I  come  on  an  errand  of  peace,  as 
Allah  is  good." 

How  was  that  now,  havin'  Allah  sprung  on 
me  in  my  own  front  yard?  Why  travel! 

"  Say,  come  out  here  where  I  can  get  a  bet- 
ter look,"  says  I,  draggin'  him  out  of  the 
shadow.  "There!  Well,  of  all  the " 

No  wonder  I  lost  my  breath;  for  what  I've 
picked  up  off  the  front  lawn  looks  like  a  stray 
villain  from  a  comic  opera.  He's  a  short,  bar- 
rel-podded gent,  mostly  costumed  in  a  long 
black  cape  affair  and  one  of  these  tasseled 
Turkish  caps.  About  all  the  features  I  can 
make  out  are  a  pair  of  bushy  eyebrows,  a 
prominent  hooked  beak,  and  a  set  of  crisp, 
curlin'  black  whiskers.  Hardly  the  kind  to  go 
shinnin'  up  waterspouts  or  squeezin'  through 
upper  windows.  Still,  I'd  almost  caught  him  in 
the  act. 


138      SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  If  that's  a  disguise  you've  got  on,"  says  I, 
"  it's  a  bird.  And  if  it  ain't — say,  let's  hear 
the  tale.  Who  do  you  claim  to  be,  anyway?  " 

"  Many  pardons  again,  Effendi,"  says  he, 
"  but  it  is  my  wish  to  remain — what  you  call 
it? — incognito."  > 

"  Then  you  don't  get  your  wish,"  says  I. 
"  No  John  Doe  game  goes  with  me.  Out  with 
it!  Who  and^ what?  " 

"  But  I  make  protest,"  says  he.  "  Kather 
would  I  depart  on  my  way. ' ' 

"  Ah,  ditch  that!  "  says  I.  "I  caught  you 
actin'  like  a  suspicious  character.  Now,  if  you 
can  account  for  yourself,  I  may  turn  you  loose ; 
but  if  you  don't,  it's  a  case  for  the  police." 

"  Ah,  no,  no!  "  he  objects.  "  Not  the  con- 
stables! Allah  forbid!  I — I  will  make  ex- 
planation. ' ' 

"  Then  let  it  come  across  quick,"  says  I. 
11  First  off,  what  name  are  you  flaggin' 
under?  " 

"  At  my  home,"  says  he,  "  I  am  known  as 
Pasha  Dar  Bunda." 

"  Well,  that's  some  name,  all  right,"  says  I. 
"  Now  the  next  item,  Pasha,  is  this,  What  set 
you  to  prowlin'  around  the  home  of  one  Mc- 
Cabe?  " 

"  Ah,  but  you  would  not  persist  thus  far!  " 
says  he,  pleadin'.  "  That  is  a  personal  thing, 
something  between  myself  and  Allah  alone." 

"  You  don't  say,"  says  I.  "  Sorry  to  butt 
in,  but  I've  got  to  have  it  all.  Come,  now !  " 


WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HER  SLEEVE  139 

"  But,  Effendi "  he  begins. 

"  No,  not  Fender,"  says  I,  "  nor  Footboard, 
or  anything  like  that:  just  plain  McCabe." 

"  It  is  a  word  of  respect,"  says  he,  "  such 
as  Sir  Lord;  thus,  Effendi  McCabe." 

"  Well,  cut  out  the  frills  and  let's  get  down 
to  brass  tacks,"  says  I.  "  You're  here  because 
you're  here,  I  expect.  But  what  else?  " 

He  sighs,  and  then  proceeds  to  let  go  of  a 
little  information.  "  You  have  under  your 
roof,"  says  he,  "  a  Meesis  Vogel,  is  it  not?  " 

*  *  Vogel  ?  '  says  I,  puzzled  for  a  second. 
"  You  don't  mean  Lindy,  do  you? ' 

"  She  was  called  that,  yes,"  says  the  Pasha, 
"  Meelinda." 

' '  But  she 's  a  Miss — old  maid, ' '  says  I. 

"  Ah?  "  says  he,  liftin'  his  bushy  eyebrows. 
"  A  Mees,  eh?  It  may  be  so.  They  tell  me  at 
her  place  of  living  that  she  is  to  be  found  here. 
Voild!  That  is  all." 

"  But  what  about  her?  "  says  I.  "  Where  do 
you  come  in?  " 

"  Once  when  I  am  in  England,"  says  he, 
"  many  years  gone  past,  I  know  her.  I  learn 
that  she  is  in  New  York.  Well,  I  find  myself  in 
America  too.  I  thought  to  see  her.  Why  not? 
A  glimpse,  no  more." 

"  Is  it  the  style  where  you  come  from,"  says 
I,  "  to  gumshoe  around  and  peek  in  the  win- 
dows to  see  old  friends?  " 

"  In  my  country,"  says  he,  "  men  do  not — 
but  then  we  have  our  own  customs.  I  have  ex- 
plain. Now  I  may  depart." 


140      SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Not  so  fast,  old  scout!  "  says  I.  "If  it's 
so  you're  a  friend  of  Lindy,  she'll  be  wantin' 
to  see  you,  and  all  we  got  to  do  is  to  step  inside 
and  call  her  down. ' ' 

"  But  thanks,"  says  he.  "It  is  very  kind. 
I  will  not  trouble,  however.  It  need  not  be. ' ' 

"  Needn't,  eh?  '  says  I.  "  Look  here, 
Pasha  So  and  So,  you  can't  put  over  anything 
so  thin  on  me!  You're  up  to  something  or 
other.  You  sure  look  it.  Anyway,  I'm  goin'  to 
march  you  in  and  find  out  from  Lindy  herself 
whether  she  knows  you  or  not.  Understand?  ' 

He  sighs  resigned.  "  Since  you  are  a  pro- 
fessor of  fists,  it  must  be  so,"  says  he.  "  But 
remark  this,  I  do  not  make  the  request  to  see 
her,  and — and  you  may  say  to  her  that  it  is 
Don  Carlos  who  is  here." 

' '  Ah-ha !  ' '  says  I.  * '  Another  pen  name, 
eh?  Don  Carlos!  Low  Dago,  or  Hidalgo?  " 

"  My  father,"  says  he,  "  was  a  Spanish  gen- 
tleman of  Hebrew  origin.  My  mother  was 
French." 

"  Some  combination!  "  says  I.  "  And  Lindy 
knows  you  best  as  Don  Carlos,  does  she?  We'll 
soon  test  that." 

So  I  escorts  him  in  by  the  side  door,  plants 
him  in  the  livin'  room  where  I  can  keep  an  eye 
on  him,  and  hoohoos  gentle  up  the  stairs  to 
Sadie. 

"  Yes?  "  says  she. 

"  Shut  the  sewin'  room  door,"  says  I. 

"  All  right,"  says  she.    "  Well?  " 


[WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HER  SLEEVE  141 

"  There's  a  gent  down  here,  Sadie,"  says  I, 
"  that  looks  like  a  cross  between  a  stage  pirate 
and  an  Armenian  rug  peddler." 

"  For  goodness'  sake!  "  says  Sadie.  "  Not 
in  the  house!  What  on  earth  did  you  let  him 
in  fort  " 

11  Because,"  says  I,  "he  claims  to  be  an  old 
friend  of  Lindy's." 

"  Of  Lindy's!"  she  gasps.  "Why,  what 
>> 

"  I  don't  know  the  rest,"  says  I.  "  You 
spring  it  on  her.  Tell  her  it's  Don  Carlos,  and 
then  let  me  know  what  she  says." 

That  seems  like  a  simple  proposition;  but 
Sadie  takes  a  long  time  over  it.  I  could  hear 
her  give  a  squeal  of  surprise  at  something,  and 
then  she  seems  to  be  askin'  a  lot  of  fool  ques- 
tions. In  the  course  of  five  or  six  minutes, 
though,  she  leans  over  the  stair  rail  lookin'  sort 
of  excited. 

"  Well?  "  says  I.    "  Does  she  know  him?  " 

' '  Know  him !  ' '  says  Sadie.  *  *  Why,  she  says 
he 's  her  husband !  ' ' 

"  Not  Lindy's!  "  I  gasps. 

"  That's  what  she  says,"  insists  Sadie. 

"Great  Scott!"  says  I.  "Must  be  some 
mistake  about  this.  Wait  a  minute.  Here,  you, 
Pasha!  Come  here!  Lindy  says  you're  her 
husband.  Is  that  so?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  he,  as  easy  as  you  please. 
"  Under  your  laws  I  suppose  I  am." 

"  Well,  wouldn't  that  frost  you!  "  says  I. 


142      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  But,  say,  Sadie,  why  don't  she  come  down 
and  see  him,  then?  " 

"  Just  what  I've  been  asking  her,"  says 
Sadie.  "  She  says  she's  too  busy,  and  that  if 
he  wants  to  see  her  he  must  come  up." 

11  Well,  what  do  you  know!  "  says  I. 
"  Pasha,  do  you  want  to  see  her?  " 

"  As  I  have  told,"  says  he,  "  there  is  no  need. 
I  do  not  demand  it. ' ' 

"  Well,  of  all  the  cold-blooded  pairs!  "  says 
I.  "  How  long  since  you've  seen  her?  " 

"Very  long,"  says  he;  "perhaps  twenty 
years." 

"  And  now  all  you  can  work  up  is  a  mild 
curiosity  for  a  glimpse  through  the  window, 
eh?  "  says  I. 

He  shrugs  his  shoulders  careless. 

"  Then,  by  the  great  horned  spoon,"  I  goes 
on,  "  you're  goin'  to  get  what  you  came  after! 
Trail  along  upstairs  after  me.  This  way.  In 
through  here.  There  you  are,  Pasha!  Lindy, 
here's  your  Don  Carlos!  " 

"  Oh!  "  says  she,  lookin'  up  from  the  shirt- 
waist she  was  bastin'  a  sleeve  on,  and  not  even 
botherin'  to  take  the  pins  out  of  her  mouth. 

And  maybe  they  ain't  some  cross-mated 
couple  too!  This  Pasha  party  shows  up  pon- 
derous and  imposin',  in  spite  of  the  funny  little 
fez  arrangement  on  his  head.  He's  thrown  his 
cloak  back,  revealin'  a  regulation  frock  coat; 
but  under  that  is  some  sort  of  a  giddy-tinted 
silk-blouse  effect,  and  the  fringed  ends  of  a 


WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HEE  SLEEVE  143 

bright  red  sash  hangs  down  below  his  knee  on 
the  left  side.  He's  got  a  color  on  him  like  the 
inside  of  an  old  coffeepot,  and  the  heavy, 
crinkly  beard  makes  him  look  like  some  foreign 
Ambassador.  While  Lindy — well,  in  her  black 
sewin'  dress  and  white  apron,  she  looks  slim- 
mer and  more  old  maidish  than  ever. 

He  confines  his  greetin'  to  a  nod  of  the  head, 
and  stands  there  gazin'  at  her  as  calm  as  if  he 
was  starin'  at  some  stranger  in  the  street. 

"  I  suppose  you've  come  to  take  me  away 
with  you,  Carlos!  "  says  she. 

"  No,"  says  he. 

"  But  I  thought,"  says  Lindy,  "  I— I  thought 
some  day  you  might.  I  didn  't  know,  though.  I 
haven't  planned  on  it." 

"  Is  it  your  wish  to  go  with  me  I  "  says  he. 

"  Why,  I'm  your  wife,  you  know,"  says 
she. 

* '  You  had  my  letters,  did  you  f  "  he  goes  on. 

"  Four,"  says  she.  "  There  was  one  from 
Spain,  when  you  were  a  brigand,  and  an- 
other  " 

"  A  brigand!  "  breaks  in  Sadie.  "  Do  you 
mean  that,  Lindy?  " 

"  Wasn't  that  it?  "  asks  Lindy  of  him. 

11  For  two  years,  Madam,"  says  Don  Carlos, 
bo  win'  polite.  "  A  dull  sort  of  business, 
mingling  so  much  with  stupid  tourists.  Bah! 
And  such  small  gains!  By  the  time  you  have 
divided  with  the  soldiers  little  is  left.  So  I 
gave  it  up." 


144      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 


<  i 


The  next  came  from  that  queer  place," 
says  Lindy,  "  Port — Port " 

"  Port  Said,"  helps  out  Pasha,  "  where  I 
had  a  gambling  house.  That  was  good  for  a 
time.  Rather  lively  also.  We  had  too  much 
shooting  and  stabbing,  though.  It  was  an  Eng- 
lish officer,  that  last  one.  What  a  row!  In  the 
night  I  left  for  Tunisia. ' ' 

"  Oh,  yes,  Tunis,"  says  Lindy.  "  Something 
about  slaves  there,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Camels  also,"  says  Pasha.  "  I  traded  in 
both  stolen  camels  and  smuggled  slaves." 

He  throws  this  off  as  casual  as  if  he  was 
tellin'  about  sellin'  sewin'  machines.  I  glances 
over  to  see  how  Sadie's  takin'  it,  and  finds  her 
drawin'  in  a  long  breath. 

' '  Well,  I  never !  ' :  says  she  explosive. 
'  *  What  a  shameless  wretch !  And  you  dared 
confess  all  this  to  Lindy?  " 

"  Pardon,  Madam,"  says  he,  smilin'  until  he 
shows  most  of  his  white  teeth,  "  but  I  desired 
no  misunderstanding.  It  is  my  way  with 
women,  to  tell  them  only  what  is  true.  If  they 
dislike  that — well,  there  are  many  others." 

"  Humph!  '*  says  Sadie,  tossin'  her  head. 
"  Lindy,  do  you  hear  that?  " 

Lindy  nods  and  keeps  right  on  bastin'  the 
sleeve. 

"  But  how  did  you  ever  come  to  marry  such 
a  person,  Lindy?  "  Sadie  demands. 

Carlos  executes  another  smile  at  this  and 
bows  polite.  "  It  was  my  fault,"  says  he.  "I 


.WHAT  LINDY  HAD  UP  HEK  SLEEVE  145 

was  in  England,  waiting  for  a  little  affair  that 
happened  in  Barcelona  to  blow  over.  By 
chance  I  saw  her  in  her  father's  shop.  Ah,  you 
may  find  it  difficult  to  believe  now,  Madam,  but 
she  was  quite  charming, — cheeks  flushed  like 
dawn  on  the  desert,  eyes  like  the  sea,  and  limbs 
as  lithe  as  an  Arab  maiden's!  I  talked.  She 
listened.  My  English  was  poor;  but  it  is  not 
always  words  that  win.  These  British  girls, 
though!  They  cannot  fully  understand  ro- 
mance. It  was  she  who  insisted  on  marriage. 
I  cared  not  a  green  fig.  What  to  me  was  the 
mumbling  of  a  churchman,  I  who  cared  not  for 
the  priests  of  my  mother  nor  the  rabbi  of  my 
father?  Pah!  Two  weeks  later  I  gave  her 
some  money  and  left  her.  Once  more  in  the 
mountains  of  Spain  I  could  breathe  again — and 
I  made  the  first  English  we  caught  settle  the 
whole  bill.  That  is  how  it  came  to  be,  Madam. 
Ask  her." 

Sadie  looks  at  Lindy,  who  nods.  "  Father 
drove  me  out  when  I  went  back, ' '  says  she ;  "  so 
I  came  over  here.  Carlos  had  told  me  where  to 
write.  You  got  all  my  letters,  did  you,  Car- 
los? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  he.  Then,  turnin'  to  Sadie, 
"  A  wonderful  writer  of  letters,  Madam, — one 
every  month ! ' ' 

"  Then  you  knew  about  little  Carlos?  "  puts 
in  Lindy.  "  It  was  a  pity.  Such  lovely  big 
black  eyes.  He  was  nearly  two.  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  him." 


146      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  I  also  had  regret,"  says  Carlos.  "  I  read 
that  letter  many  times.  It  was  because  of  that, 
I  think,  that  I  continued  to  read  the  others,  and 
was  at  pains  to  have  them  sent  to  me.  They 
would  fill  a  hamper,  all  of  them." 

* '  What !  ' '  says  Sadie.  *  *  After  you  knew  the 
kind  of  monster  he  was,  Lindy,  did  you  keep  on 
writing  to  him?  " 

"  But  he  was  still  my  husband,"  protested 
Lindy. 

"  Bah!  "  says  Sadie,  throwin'  a  scornful 
glance  at  the  Pasha. 

Don  Carlos  he  spreads  out  his  hands,  and 
shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  These  English!  "  says 
he.  "  At  first  I  laughed  at  the  letters.  They 
would  come  at  such  odd  times;  for  you  can 
imagine,  Madam,  that  my  life  has  been — well, 
not  as  the  saints'.  And  to  many  different 
women  have  I  read  bits  of  these  letters  that 
came  from  so  far, — to  dancing  girls,  others. 
Some  laughed  with  me,  some  wept.  One  tried 
to  stab  me  with  a  dagger  afterward.  Women 
are  like  that.  You  never  know  when  they  will 
change  into  serpents.  All  but  this  one.  Think ! 
Month  after  month,  year  after  year,  letters,  let- 
ters ;  about  nothing  much,  it  is  true,  but  wishing 
me  good  health,  happiness,  asking  me  to  have 
care  for  myself,  and  saying  always  that  I  was 
loved!  Well?  Can  one  go  on  laughing  at 
things  like  that?  Once  I  was  dangerously  hurt, 
a  spearthrust  that  I  got  near  Biskra,  and  the 
letter  came  to  me  where  I  lay  in  my  tent.  It 


was  like  a  soothing  voice,  comforting  one  in 
the  dark.  Since  then  I  have  watched  for  those 
letters.  When  chance  brought  me  to  this  side 
of  the  world,  I  found  myself  wishing  for  sight 
of  the  one  who  could  remain  ever  the  same, 
could  hold  the  faith  in  the  faithless  for  so  long. 
So  here  I  am.'* 

"  Yes,  and  you  ought  to  be  in  jail,"  says 
Sadie  emphatic.  "  But,  since  you're  not,  what 
do  you  propose  doing  next !  ' ' 

"  I  return  day  after  to-morrow,"  says  Don 
Carlos,  * '  and  if  the  lady  who  is  my  wife  so  wills 
it  she  shall  go  with  me. ' ' 

"  Oh,  shall  she!  "  says  Sadie  sarcastic. 
"  Where  to,  pray?  " 

< '  To  El  Kurfah,"  says  he. 

"  And  just  where,"  says  Sadie,  "  is  that?  " 

"  Three  days  by  camel  south  from  Moor- 
zook,"  says  he.  "  It  is  an  oasis  in  the  Libyan 
Desert." 

"  Indeed!  "  says  Sadie.  "  And  what  par- 
ticular business  are  you  engaged  in  there, — 
gambling,  robbing,  slave  selling,  or " 

"In  El  Kurfah,"  breaks  in  Don  Carlos, 
bo  win'  dignified,  "  I  am  Pasha  Dar  Bunda, 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  and  chief  business 
agent  to  Hamid-al-Illa ;  who,  as  you  may  know, 
is  one  of  the  half-dozen  rulers  claiming  to  be 
Emperor  of  the  Desert.  Frankly,  I  admit  he 
has  no  right  to  such  a  title ;  but  neither  has  any 
of  the  others.  Hamid,  however,  is  one  of  the 
most  up-to-date  and  successful  of  all  the  desert 


148      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

chieftains.  My  presence  here  is  proof  of  that. 
I  came  to  arrange  for  large  shipments  of  dates 
and  ivorjr,  and  to  take  back  to  Hamid  an  auto- 
mobile and  the  latest  phonograph  records." 

"  I  don't  like  automobiles,"  says  Lindy,  fin- 
ishin'  up  the  sleeve. 

"Neither  does  Hamid,"  says  Pasha;  "but 
he  says  we  ought  to  have  one  standing  in  front 
of  the  royal  palace  to  impress  the  hill  tribesmen 
when  they  come  in.  Do  you  go  back  to  El 
Kurfah  with  me,  Mrs.  Vogel  <?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  Lindy,  rollin'  up  her  apron. 

"  But,  Lindy!  "  gasps  Sadie.  "  To  such  a 
place,  with  such  a  man!  ' 

"  He  is  my  husband,  you  know,"  says  she. 

And  Lindy  seems  to  think  when  she's  put 
that  over  that  she's  said  all  there  was  to  say 
on  the  subject.  Sadie  protests  and  threatens 
and  begs.  She  reminds  her  what  a  deep-dyed 
villain  this  Carlos  party  is,  and  forecasts  all 
sorts  of  dreadful  things  that  will  likely  happen 
to  her  if  she  follows  him  off.  But  it's  all 
wasted  breath. 

And  all  the  while  Pasha  Dar  Bunda,  alias 
Don  Carlos  Vogel,  stands  there  smilin'  polite 
and  waitin'  patient.  But  in  the  end  he  walks 
out  triumphant,  with  Lindy,  holdin'  her  little 
black  bag  in  one  hand  and  her  old  umbrella  in 
the  other,  followin'  along  in  his  wake. 

Then  last  Friday  we  went  down  to  one  of 
them  Mediterranean  steamers  to  see  'em  actu- 
ally start.  And,  say,  this  slim,  graceful  party 


LINDY  HAD  UP  HEE  SLEEVE  149 

in  the  snappy  gray  travelin'  dress,  with  the 
smart  lid  and  all  the  gray  veils  on,  looks  about 
as  much  like  the  Lindy  we'd  known  as  a  hard- 
boiled  egg  looks  like  a  frosted  cake.  Lindy  has 
bloomed  out. 

"  And  when  we  get  to  El  Kurfah  guess  what 
Carlos  is  going  to  give  me!  "  she  confides  to 
Sadie.  "  A  riding  camel  and  Batime.  He's 
one  of  the  best  camel  drivers  in  the  place, 
Batime.  And  I  have  learned  to  salaam  and 
say  '  Allah  il  Allah.'  Evryone  must  do  that 
there.  And  in  our  garden  are  dates  and 
oranges  growing.  Only  fancy!  There  will  be 
five  slaves  to  wait  on  me,  and  when  we  go  to 
the  palace  I  shall  wear  gold  bracelets  on  my 
ankles.  "Won't  that  seem  odd?  It's  rather 
warm  in  El  Kurfah,  you  know;  but  I  sha'n't 
mind.  Early  in  the  morning,  when  it  is  cool,  I 
shall  ride  out  into  the  sandhills  with  Carlos. 
He  is  going  to  teach  me  how  to  shoot  a  lion. ' ' 

She  was  chatterin'  along  like  a  schoolgirl, 
and  when  the  boat  pulls  out  of  the  slip  she 
waves  jaunty  to  us.  Don  Carlos,  leanin'  over 
the  rail  alongside  of  her,  gazes  at  her  sort  of 
admirin'. 

"  El  Kurfah,  eh?  "  says  I  to  Sadie.  "  That's 
mis  sin'  the  Old  Ladies'  Home  by  some  margin, 
ain't  it!  " 


CHAPTER  X 

A   CASE    OF   NOBODY  HOME 

11  YES,"  says  J.  Bayard  Steele,  ad  Justin'  the 
chin  part  in  his  whiskers  and  tiltin'  back  com- 
f 'table  in  his  chair,  "  I  am  beginning  to  think 
that  the  late  Pyramid  Gordon  must  have  been 
a  remarkably  good  judge  of  human  nature." 

"  For  instance?  "  says  I. 

1(1  His  selection  of  me  as  an  executor  of  his 
whimsical  will,"  says  he. 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  How  some  people  do 
dislike  themselves !  Now,  if  you  want  to  know 
my  views  on  that  subject,  J.  B.,  I've  always 
thought  that  was  one  of  his  battiest  moves. ' ' 

But  he's  got  a  hide  like  a  sample  trunk,  Mr. 
Steele  has.  He  only  shrugs  his  shoulders. 
"  Yes,  you  have  given  me  similar  subtle  hints 
to  that  effect,"  says  he.  "  And  I  will  admit 
that  at  first  I  had  doubts  as  to  my  fitness.  The 
doing  of  kind  and  generous  acts  for  utter 
strangers  has  not  been  a  ruling  passion  with 
me.  But  so  far  I  have  handled  several  assign- 
ments— in  which  have  I  failed?  ' 

"  Look  who's  been  coachin'  you,  though!  " 
says  I. 

J.  Bayard  bows  and  waves  a  manicured  hand 

150 


A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME       151 

graceful.  "  True,"  he  goes  on,  "  your  advice 
has  been  invaluable  on  occasions,  friend  Mc- 
Cabe;  especially  in  the  early  stages  of  my 
career  as  a  commissioned  agent  of  philan- 
thropy. But  I  rather  fancy  that  of  late  I  have 
developed  an  altruistic  instinct  of  my  own;  an 
instinct,  if  I  may  say  so,  in  which  kindly  zeal 
is  tempered  by  a  certain  amount  of  practical 
wisdom. ' ' 

I  'Fine!"    says    I.      "  Bern'    a    little   floral 
tribute,  I  take  it,  from  Mr.  Steele  to  himself." 

"  Unless  it  should  occur  to  you,  Mc- 
Cabe,"  says  he,  "  to  make  the  distinction  be- 
tween offensive  egoism  and  pardonable  pride." 

"  I  don't  get  you,"  says  I;  "  but  I  feel  the 
jab.  Anyhow,  it's  instructin'  and  elevatin'  to 
hear  you  run  on.  Maybe  you've  got  somethin' 
special  on  your  mind?  " 

II  I  have,"  says  he,  producin'  an  envelope 
with  some  notes  scribbled  on  the  back. 

1 '  Is  that  No.  6  on  the  list  ?  ' '  says  I.  ' l  Who 's 
the  party?  " 

"  Here,"  says  he,  tappin'  the  envelope  im- 
pressive, "  are  my  findings  and  recommenda- 
tions in  the  case  of  Hackett  Wells." 

"  Shoot  it,"  says  I,  settlin'  back  in  the  desk 
chair. 

It's  a  pity  too  I  can't  give  you  all  the  high 
English  J.  Bayard  uses  up  in  statin'  this  sim- 
ple proposition;  for  he's  in  one  of  them  com- 
f 'table,  expandin',  after-luncheon  moods,  when 
his  waist  band  fits  tight  and  the  elegant  Ian- 


152      SHORTY  MoCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

guage  just  flows  from  him  like  lie  had  hydrant 
connection  with  the  dictionary. 

It  seems,  though,  that  this  Wells  party  had 
been  sort  of  a  partner  of  Pyramid's  back  in  the 
early  days.  Some  sort  of  a  buyers'  pool  for 
Eastern  coal  deliveries,  I  believe  it  was,  that 
Hackett  had  got  into  accidental  and  nursed 
along  until  he  found  himself  dividin'  the  cream 
of  the  profits  with  only  half  a  dozen  others. 
Then  along  came  Pyramid  with  his  grand  con- 
solidation scheme,  holdin'  out  the  bait  of  makin' 
Mr.  Wells  head  of  the  new  concern  and  freezin' 
out  all  the  rest. 

Wells,  he  swallows  it  whole :  only  to  wake  up 
a  few  months  later  and  discover  that  he's  been 
double  crossed.  Havin'  served  his  turn,  Gor- 
don has  just  casually  spilled  him  overboard, 
thiukin'  no  more  of  doin'  it  than  he  would  of 
chuckin'  away  a  half-smoked  cigar. 

But  to  Hackett  Wells  this  was  a  national 
calamity.  Havin'  got  in  with  the  easy-money 
bunch  by  a  fluke  in  the  first  place,  he  wa'n't  a 
man  who  could  come  back.  Course  he  brought 
suit,  and  wasted  a  lot  of  breath  callin'  Pyramid 
hard  names  from  a  safe  distance;  but  Pyra- 
mid's lawyers  wore  him  out  in  the  courts,  and 
he  was  too  busy  to  care  who  was  cussin'  him. 

So  Mr.  Wells  and  his  woe  drops  out  of  sight. 
He's  managed  to  keep  hold  of  a  little  property 
that  brings  him  in  just  enough  to  scrub  along 
on,  and  he  joins  that  hungry-eyed,  trembly- 
fingered  fringe  of  margin  pikers  that  hangs 


A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME        153 

around  every  hotel  broker's  branch  in  town, 
takin'  a  timid  flier  now  and  then,  but  tappin' 
the  free  lunch  hard  and  reg'lar.  You  know  the 
kind, — seedy  hasbeens,  with  their  futures  all 
behind  'em. 

And  in  time,  broodin'  over  things  in  gen'ral, 
it  got  to  Hackett  Wells  in  his  weak  spot, — heart, 
or  liver,  or  something.  Didn't  quite  finish  him, 
you  understand,  but  left  him  on  the  scrapheap, 
just  totterin'  around  and  stavin'  off  an  obitu- 
ary item  by  bein'  mighty  careful. 

"  I  suppose  Gordon  must  have  heard  some- 
thing of  the  shape  he  was  in,"  says  J.  Bayard, 
11  when  he  included  him  in  his  list.  Well,  I 
hunted  him  up  the  other  day,  in  a  cheap,  messy 
flat-house  to  the  deuce  and  gone  up  Eighth 
avenue,  got  his  story  from  him,  and  decided  on 
a  way  of  helping  him  out. ' ' 

"  Want  to  buy  him  a  coal  mine,  or  something 
like  that?  "  says  I. 

J.  Bayard  refuses  to  notice  my  little  sarcastic 
play.  ' '  I  am  sure  Pyramid  would  have  wanted 
this  worn-out,  cast-off  tool  of  his  to  end  his 
days  decently, ' '  goes  on  Mr.  Steele ;  ' '  but  to 
give  him  a  lump  sum  would  be  worse  than  use- 
less. Two  or  three  plunges,  and  it  would  be 
all  gone." 

"  Think  of  puttin'  him  in  a  home  some- 
where? "  says  I. 

"  That  might  be  a  good  plan,"  says  Steele, 
"  if  he  was  still  a  widower;  but  it  appears  that 
he  has  married  again, — a  young  woman  too, 


154      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

some  waitress  that  he  met  in  a  quick-lunch 
place.  I  saw  her.  Bah!  One  of  these  plump, 
stupid  young  females,  who  appeared  in  a  dingy 
dressing  gown  with  her  hair  down.  What  an 
old  fool !  But  I  suppose  she  takes  care  of  him, 
in  a  way.  So  I  thought  that  an  annuity,  of  say 
a  thousand  or  two,  paid  in  monthly  installments, 
would  be  the  wisest.  That  would  enable  them 
to  move  out  into  the  country,  get  a  nice  little 
house,  with  a  garden,  and  really  live.  It  was 
pathetic  to  see  how  grateful  he  was  when  I  told 
him  of  my  scheme.  Of  course,  McCabe,  all  this 
is  subject  to  your  indorsement.  Thought  you 
might  like  to  have  a  talk  with  them  first,  and 
see  for  yourself;  so  I  asked  them  to  meet  me 
here  about " 

"  Guess  they're  right  on  time,"  says  I  as  the 
studio  door  opens,  and  in  drifts  a  December- 
and-May  pair  that  answers  all  the  details  of  his 
description. 

The  old  boy  might  have  been  still  in  the  six- 
ties ;  but  with  his  remnant  of  white  hair,  watery 
eyes,  and  ashy  cheeks  he  looks  like  a  reg'lar 
antique.  Must  have  been  one  of  these  heavy- 
set  sports  in  his  day,  a  good  feeder,  and  a  con- 
sistent drinker;  but  by  the  flabby  dewlaps  and 
the  meal-bag  way  his  clothes  hang  on  him  I 
judge  he's  slumped  quite  a  lot.  Still,  he's  kind 
of  a  dignified,  impressive  old  ruin,  which  makes 
the  contrast  with  the  other  half  of  the  sketch 
all  the  more  startlin'. 

She's  a  bunchy  blonde,  she  is,  about  four  foot 


A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME        155 

six  in  her  French  heels,  with  yellow  hair,  China- 
doll  eyes,  a  snub  nose,  and  a  waxy  pink  and 
white  complexion  like  these  show-window  mod- 
els you  see  in  department  stores.  She's  cos- 
tumed cheap  but  gaudy  in  a  wrinkled,  tango- 
colored  dress  that  she  must  have  picked  off 
some  Grand  street  bargain  counter  late  last 
spring.  The  ninety-nine-cent  soup-plate  lid 
cocked  over  one  ear  adds  a  rakish  touch  that 
almost  puts  her  in  the  comic  valentine  class. 

But  when  I'm  introduced  to  the  old  scout  he 
glances  fond  at  her  and  does  the  honors  grace- 
ful. "  Mrs.  Wells,  Professor,"  says  he,  and 
she  executes  an  awkward  duck  response. 

While  the  three  of  us  are  talkin'  over  J. 
Bayard's  proposition  she  sits  at  one  side, 
starin'  blank  and  absentminded,  as  if  this  was 
somethin'  that  don't  concern  her  at  all. 

It  ain't  a  long  debate,  either.  Hackett  Wells 
seems  satisfied  with  most  any  arrangement  we 
want  to  make.  He's  a  meek,  broken  old  sport, 
grateful  for  anything  that  comes  his  way. 
That's  what  led  me  to  insist  on  boostin'  the 
ante  up  to  twenty-five  hundred,  I  guess ;  for  it 
didn't  look  like  he  could  go  on  pullin'  that  down 
for  many  years ^more.  And  of  course  J.  Bayard 
is  tickled  to  get  my  O.K.  so  easy. 

"  Then  it's  all  settled,"  says  Mr.  Steele. 
"  You  will  receive  a  check  from  the  attorney  of 
Mr.  Gordon's  estate  on  the  first  of  every  month. 
You  and  Mrs.  Wells  ought  to  start  to-morrow 
to  look  for  a  place  in  some  nice  little  country 


156      SHORTY  McGABE  ON  THE  JOB 

town  and — why,  what's  the  matter  with  your 
wife?  " 

She  has  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  her  dumpy 
shoulders  are  heavin'  up  and  down  passionate. 
At  first  I  couldn't  make  out  whether  it's  woe, 
or  if  she's  swallowed  a  safety  pin.  Anyway, 
it's  deep  emotion  of  some  kind. 

"Why,  Deary!"  says  Mr.  Wells,  steppin' 
over  and  pattin'  her  on  the  back. 

But  that  don't  have  any  effect.  The  heavin' 
motion  goes  right  on,  and  no  answer  comes 
from  Deary. 

"  Mabel!  Mabel,  dear!  "  insists  Hackett. 
* '  Tell  me  what  is  wrong.  Come  now !  ' ' 

Mabel  just  shakes  off  his  hand  and  continues 
her  chest  gymnastics.  Also  she  begins  kickin' 
her  heels  against  the  chair  rungs.  And  as 
Hubby  stands  there  lookin'  helpless,  with  J. 
Bayard  starin'  disturbed,  but  makin'  no  move, 
it  appears  like  it  was  up  to  me  to  take  a  hand. 

"  Don't  mind  the  furniture,  Ma'am,"  says  I. 
"  Take  a  whack  at  the  desk  too,  if  you  like; 
but  after  you're  through  thro  win'  the  fit  maybe 
you'll  let  us  know  what  it's  all  about." 

At  which  she  begins  rockin'  back  and  forth 
and  moanin'  doleful.  A  couple  of  hairpins 
works  loose  and  drops  to  the  floor. 

"  Excuse  me,  Ma'am,"  says  I,  "  but  you're 
goin'  to  lose  the  inside  of  that  French  roll  if 
you  keep  on." 

That  fetched  her  out  of  it  in  a  hurry.  Grab- 
bin'  wild  at  her  back  hair,  she  sat  up  and  faced 


A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME        157 

us,  with  no  signs  at  all  of  real  weeps  in  her 
eyes. 

"  I  won't  live  in  the  country,  I  won't!  "  she 
states  explosive. 

11  Why,  Mabel  dear!  "  protests  Mr.  Wells. 

"Ah,  don't  be  an  old  bonehead!  "  comes 
back  Mabel.  "  What's  the  idea,  wishin'  this 
Rube  stuff  on  us?  You  can  just  count  me  out, 
Hacky,  if  that's  the  game.  Do  you  get  me?  " 

Hacky  does.  "  I'm  very  sorry,  Gentlemen,'* 
says  he,  "  to  ask  you  to  modify  your  generous 
terms;  but  I  feel  that  my  wife's  wishes  in  the 
matter  ought  to  be  taken  into  account." 

"  Why — er — to  be  sure,"  says  J.  Bayard. 
"  I  merely  suggested  your  living  in  the  country 
because  it  seemed  to  me  the  wisest  plan;  but 
after  all " 

11  Do  we  look  like  a  pair  of  jays,  I'd  like  to 
know?  "  demands  Mrs.  Wells  indignant. 
"  And  another  thing:  I  don't  stand  for  this  so 
much  a  month  dope,  either.  What's  the  good 
of  a  little  now  and  then?  If  we've  got  anything 
coming  to  us,  why  not  hand  it  over  annual? 
There 'd  be  some  sense  to  that.  Stick  out  for 
once  a  year,  Hacky." 

Which  he  done.  She  had  him  well  trained, 
Mabel  did.  He  shrugs  his  shoulders,  tries  to 
smile  feeble,  and  spreads  out  his  hands.  ' '  You 
see,  Gentlemen,"  says  he. 

I  must  say  too  that  Mr.  Steele  puts  up  a 
mighty  convincin'  line  of  talk,  tryin'  to  show 
'em  how  much  better  it  would  be  to  have  a 


158      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

couple  of  hundred  or  so  comin'  in  fresh  on  the 
first  of  every  month,  than  to  be  handed  a  lump 
sum  and  maybe  lose  some  of  it,  or  run  shy  be- 
fore next  payday.  He  explains  how  he  was 
tryin'  to  plan  so  the  money  might  do  'em  the 
most  good,  and  unless  it  did  how  he  couldn't 
feel  that  he  'd  done  his  part  right. 

"  All  of  which,"  he  goes  on,  "  I  am  quite 
sure,  Mrs.  Wells,  you  will  appreciate." 

"  Go  on,  you  whiskered  old  stuff!  "  comes 
back  Mabel  spiteful.  "  How  do  you  know  so 
much  what's  good  for  us?  You  and  your  nutty 
dreams  about  cows  and  flower  gardens  and 
hens !  I  'd  rather  go  back  to  Second  avenue  and 
frisk  another  quick-lunch  job.  Hand  us  a  wad: 
that's  all  we  want." 

Course  it  was  a  batty  piece  of  work,  tryin' 
to  persuade  people  to  let  you  push  money  on 
'em;  but  that's  just  where  we  stood.  And  in 
the  end  J.  Bayard  wipes  his  brow  weary  and 
turns  to  me. 

"  Well,  McCabe,  what  do  you  say?  "  he  asks. 
"  Shall  we?  " 

11  I  leave  it  with  you,"  says  I.  "  You're  the 
one  that's  developed  this  what-do-you-call-it  in- 
stinct, temperin'  kindly  zeal  with  practical  wis- 
dom, ain't  you?  Then  go  to  it! ': 

So  five  minutes  later  Hackett  Wells  shuffles 
out  with  an  order  good  for  the  whole  twenty- 
five  hundred  in  his  pocket,  and  Mabel  clingin' 
tight  to  his  arm. 

"  So  long,  Profess,"  says  she  over  her  shoul- 


A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME       159 

der,  as  I  holds  the  door  open  for  'em.  "  We're 
headed  for  happy  days." 

And  J.  Bayard  Steele,  gazin'  after  her,  re- 
marks puzzled,  "  Now  just  precisely  what  can 
she  mean  by  that?  " 

"  Bein'  only  a  crude  and  simple  soul,  J.  B.," 
says  I,  "  I  got  to  give  it  up.  Anyhow,  Mabel's 
entirely  too  thick  a  girl  for  me  to  see  through. ' ' 

Besides,  not  knowin'  her  tastes  or  little  fads, 
how  was  I  to  guess  her  notion  of  happy  days? 
Then  again,  I  didn't  have  to.  All  that's  clear 
is  that  Pyramid  had  wanted  us  to  do  some  good 
turn  for  this  old  goat,  to  sort  of  even  up  for 
that  spill  of  years  gone  by,  and  we'd  done  our 
best.  Whether  the  money  was  to  be  used  wise 
or  not  accordin'  to  our  view  was  a  problem 
that  don't  worry  me  at  all.  Might  have  once, 
when  I  was  dead  sure  my  dope  on  things  in 
gen'ral  was  the  only  true  dope.  But  I'm  get- 
ting over  that,  I  hope,  and  allowin'  other  folks 
to  have  theirs  now  and  then.  In  fact,  I  pro- 
ceeded to  forget  this  pair  as  quick  as  possible, 
like  you  try  to  shake  a  bad  dream  when  you 
wake  up  in  the  night.  And  I  warned  J.  Bayard 
that  if  he  didn't  quit  luggin'  his  punk  philan- 
thropy specimens  into  my  studio  I'd  bar  him 
out  entirely. 

Let's  see,  that  was  early  in  the  summer,  and 
it  must  have  been  just  before  Labor  Day  that 
I  broke  away  for  a  week  or  so  to  run  up  into 
the  White  Mountains  and  bring  back  Sadie  and 
little  Sully.  First  off  Sadie  was  plannin'  to 


160      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

come  by  train ;  but  by  the  time  I  got  there  she  'd 
changed  her  mind  and  wanted  to  tour  back  in 
the  machine. 

"  It's  such  gorgeous  weather,"  says  she, 
"  and  the  leaves  are  turning  so  nicely!  We'll 
take  three  days  for  it,  making  short  runs  and 
stopping  at  night  wherever  we  like." 

"  You  mean,"  says  I,  "  stoppin'  wherever 
you  can  find  an  imitation  Waldorf-Castoria." 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  she.  "  And  you  know 
some  of  these  little  automobile  inns  are  per- 
fectly charming." 

Well,  that's  what  brought  us  to  this  Sunset 
Lake  joint  the  first  night  out.  Somewhere  in 
New  Hampshire  it  was,  or  maybe  Vermont. 
Anyway,  it  was  right  in  the  heart  of  the  sum- 
mer boarder  belt,  and  it  had  all  the  usual  vaca- 
tion apparatus  cluttered  around, — tennis  courts, 
bowling  alleys,  bathing  floats,  dancing  pavilion, 
and  a  five-piece  Hungarian  orchestra,  four  parts 
kosher,  that  helped  the  crockery  jugglers  put 
the  din  in  dinner. 

It  was  a  clean,  well-kept  place,  though,  and 
by  the  quality  of  the  tomato  bisque  and  the 
steamed  clams  that  we  started  with  I  judged  we 
was  actually  goin'  to  be  surprised  with  some 
real  food.  We'd  watched  the  last  of  the  sunset 
glow  fade  out  from  the  little  toy  lake,  and  while 
we  was  waitin'  to  see  what  the  roast  and  vege- 
tables might  be  like  we  gazed  around  at  the 
dinner  push  that  was  filterin'  in. 

And  what  a  job  lot  of  humanity  does  have 


A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME        161 

the  coin  to  spend  the  summer,  or  part  of  it,  at 
these  four-a-day  resorts!  There's  middle-aged 
sports,  in  the  fifties  or  over,  some  of  'em  with 
their  fat,  fussed-up  wives,  others  with  giddy 
young  Number  Twos;  then  there's  jolly,  sun- 
burned, comf 'table  lookin'  fam'ly  parties,  in- 
cludin'  little  Brother  with  the  peeled  nose,  and 
Grandmother  with  her  white  lace  cap.  Also 
there's  quite  a  sprinklin*  of  widows,  gay  and 
otherwise,  and  the  usual  bunch  of  young  folks, 
addin'  lively  touches  here  and  there.  All 
city  people,  you  know,  playin'  at  bein'  in  the 
country,  but  insistin'  on  Broadway  food  at 
Broadway  prices. 

Our  waitress  was  just  staggerin'  in  with  a 
loaded  tray,  and  Sadie  was  tryin'  to  induce  lit- 
tle Sully  not  to  give  the  college  yell  when  he 
asked  personal  questions  about  folks  at  the 
next  table,  when  I  notices  her  glance  curious  at 
something  over  my  head,  then  lower  her  eyes 
and  sort  of  smile.  Course  I  suspects  something 
worth  lookin'  at  might  be  floatin'  down  the 
aisle;  so  I  half  swings  around  to  get  a  view. 
And  I'd  no  sooner  got  it  than  I  wished  I  hadn't 
been  so  curious;  for  the  next  second  there 
comes,  shrillin'  sharp  and  raspy  above  the 
dinin'  room  clatter,  a  free  and  happy  hail. 

1  i  Well,  what  do  you  know !  Professor  Mc- 
Cabe,  ain't  it!  " 

Me — I  just  sat  there  and  gawped.  I  don't 
know  as  I  could  be  blamed.  Course,  I'd  seen 
bunchy  little  blondes  before;  but  this  was  the1 


162      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

first  time  I'd  ever  seen  one  that  had  draped 
herself  in  a  rainbow.  That's  the  only  word  for 
it.  The  thin,  fluttery  silk  thing  with  the  but- 
terfly sleeves  is  shaded  from  cream  white  to 
royal  purple,  and  underneath  is  one  of  these 
Dolly  Varden  gowns  of  flowered  pink,  set  off  by 
a  Roman  striped  sash  two  feet  wide.  And  when 
you  add  to  that  such  details  as  gold  shoes,  pink 
silk  stockin's,  long  pearl  ear  danglers,  and  a 
weird  lid  perched  on  a  mountain  of  yellow  hair 
— well,  it's  no  wonder  I  was  sometime  remem- 
berin'  where  I'd  seen  them  China-doll  eyes  be- 
fore. 

"  Deary,"  she  goes  on,  turnin'  to  what's  fol- 
lowin'  her,  "  look  who's  here!  Our  old  friend, 
the  Profess!  " 

And  with  that  she  motions  up  a  dignified  old 
wreck  dolled  out  in  a  white  flannel  suit  and  a 
red  tie.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  touch  of  red 
too,  he  sure  would  have  looked  ghastly;  for 
there  was  about  as  much  color  in  his  face  as 
there  was  in  his  white  buckskin  shoes.  But  he 
steps  up  spry  and  active  and  shoves  out  a 
greetin'  hand. 

I  ain't  got  the  nerve,  either,  to  look  at  Sadie 
while  I'm  doin'  the  introducin'.  I  was  watchin' 
Mrs.  Hackett  Wells  sort  of  fascinated  and  lis- 
tenin'  to  her  chatter  on. 

"  Well,  if  this  don't  froth  the  eggs!  "  says 
she,  pattin*  me  chummy  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Havin'  you  show  up  like  this!  And,  say, 
lemme  put  you  wise, — here's  where  you  want 


A  CASE  OF  NOBODY  HOME        163 

to  stick  around  for  a  week  or  so.  Yea,  Bo! 
Perfectly  swell  bunch  here,  and  something 
doin'  every  minute.  Why,  say,  me  and  Deary 
has  been  here  six  weeks,  and  we've  been  havin' 
the  time  of  our  lives.  Know  what  they  call  me 
here?  Well,  I'm  the  Hot  Baby  of  Sunset  Lake; 
and  that  ain't  any  bellboy's  dream,  either! 
I'm  the  one  that  starts  things.  Yes,  and  I  keep 
'em  goin'  too.  Just  picked  this  place  out  from 
the  resort  ads  in  the  Sunday  edition ;  and  it  was 
some  prize  pick,  believe  me!  '  A  quiet,  refined 
patronage  of  exclusive  people,'  the  picture 
pamphlet  puts  it,  and  I  says  to  Deary,  '  Me  for 
that,  with  three  wardrobe  trunks  full  of  glad 
rags. '  So  you  can  tell  your  friend  with  the  face 
privet  that  we  got  to  the  country  after  all.  Did 
, I  miss  my  guess?  Never  a  miss!  Why,  say, 
some  of  these  swell  parties  lives  on  West  End 
avenue  and  the  Drive,  and  I  can  call  half  of  'em 
by  their  first  names.  Can't  I,  Deary!  " 

And  Hackett  Wells  nods,  smilin'  at  her  fond 
and  sappy. 

"  Drop  round  to  the  dancin*  pavilion  later," 
says  she,  ' '  and  watch  me  push  him  through  the 
onestep.  After  that  me  and  one  of  the  boys  is 
goin'  to  tear  off  a  little  Maxixe  stuff  that'll  be 
as  good  as  a  cabaret  act,  and  about  ten-thirt 
we'll  tease  Deary  into  openin'  a  couple  of 
quarts  in  the  cafe.  So  long!  Don't  forget, 
now! '  And  off  she  floats,  noddin'  cheerful 
right  and  left,  and  bein'  escorted  to  her  table 
by  both  head  waiters. 


164      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

I  couldn't  stave  off  meetin'  Sadie's  glance 
any  longer.  "  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  Why,  that's 
only  Mabel.  Cumrin'  little  thing,  ain't  she?  " 

"  Shorty,"  demands  Sadie,  "  where  on  earth 
did  you  ever  meet  such  a  person?  " 

Then,  of  course,  I  had  to  sketch  out  the  whole 
story.  It  was  high  time;  for  Sadie's  lips  was 
set  more  or  less  firm.  But  when  she  hears 
about  J.  Bayard's  wise-boy  plans  for  settlin' 
the  Hackett  Wells  in  some  pastoral  paradise, 
and  how  they  got  ditched  by  militant  Mabel, 
she  indulges  in  a  grim  smile. 

"  A  brilliant  pair  of  executors  you  and  Mr. 
Steels  are,"  says  she,  "  if  this  is  a  sample  of 
your  work!  " 

"  Ah,  come,  don't  be  rough,  Sadie!  "  says  I. 
"  It's  hard  to  tell,  you  know.  What's  the  odds 
if  they  do  have  to  go  back  to  their  little  Eighth 
avenue  flat  next  week?  They're  satisfied. 
Anyway,  Mabel  is.  She's  New  York  born  and 
bred,  she  is,  and  now  that  she's  had  her  annual 
blow  she  don't  care  what  happens.  Next  year, 
if  Deary  hangs  on,  they'll  have  another." 

"  But  it's  so  foolish  of  them!  "  insists 
Sadie. 

"  What  else  do  you  expect  from  a  pair  like 
that?  "  says  I.  "  It's  what  they  want  most, 
ain't  it?  And  there's  plenty  like  'em.  No,  they 
ain't  such  bad  folks,  either.  Their  hearts  are 
all  there.  Just  a  case  of  vacancy  in  the  upper 
stories:  nobody  home,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  XI 

UNDEE   THE   WIRE   WITH   EDWIN 

IF  you  must  know,  I  was  doin'  a  social  duck. 
Not  that  I  ain't  more  or  less  parlor  broke  by 
this  time,  or  am  apt  to  shy  at  a  dinner  coat,  like 
a  selfmade  Tammany  statesman  when  ad- 
dressin'  his  fellow  Peruvians.  Nothing  like 
that!  Pick  out  the  right  comp'ny,  and  I  can 
get  through  quite  some  swell  feed  without  usin' 
the  wrong  fork  more'n  once  or  twice.  I  don't 
mind  little  fam'ly  gatherin's  at  Pinckney's  or 
the  Purdy-Pells'  now.  I  can  even  look  a  butler 
in  the  eye  without  feelin'  shivery  along  the 
spine.  But  these  forty-cover  affairs  at  the 
Twombley-Cranes',  with  a  dinner  dance  crush 
afterwards  and  a  buffet  supper  at  one-thirty 
A.M. — that's  where  I  get  off. 

Sadie  likes  to  take  'em  in  once  in  awhile, 
though,  and  as  long  as  she'll  spend  what  there '• 
left  of  the  night  with  friends  in  town,  and  don't 
keep  me  hangin'  round  until  the  brewery  trucks 
and  milk  wagons  begin  to  get  busy,  I  ain't  got 
any  kick  comin'. 

It  was  one  of  these  fussy  functions  I  was 
dodgin'.  I'd  had  my  dinner  at  home,  peaceable 
and  quiet,  while  Sadie  was  dressin',  and  at  that 

165 


166      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

there  was  plenty  of  time  left  for  me  to  tow  her 
into  town  and  land  her  at  the  Twombley- 
Cranes',  where  they  had  the  sidewalk  canopy 
out  and  an  extra  carriage  caller  on  duty.  I'd 
quit  at  the  mat,  though,  and  was  slopin'  down 
the  front  steps,  when  I'm  held  up  by  this 
sharp-spoken  old  girl  with  the  fam'ly  umbrella 
and  the  string  bonnet. 

"  Young  man,"  says  she,  plantin'  herself 
square  in  front  of  me,  "  is  this  Mr.  Twombley- 
Crane's  house?  " 

"  This  is  where  it  begins,"  says  I,  lookin' 
her  over  some  amused ;  for  that  lid  of  hers  sure 
was  the  quaintest  thing  on  Fifth-ave. 

"  Humph!  "  says  she.  "  Looks  more  like 
the  way  into  a  circus !  What's  this  thing  for!  " 
and  she  waves  the  umbrella  scornful  at  the 
canopy. 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  this  is  to  protect 
the  guests  from  the  rude  stares  of  the 
common  herd;  also  it's  useful  in  case  of  a 
shower. ' ' 

11  Of  all  things!  "  says  she,  sniffin'  contempt- 
uous. 

"  If  you  don't  like  the  idea,"  says  I,  "  sup- 
pose I  mention  it  to  Mr.  Twombley-Crane  ? 
Maybe  he'll  take  it  down." 

"  That'll  do,  young  man!'1  says  she. 
"  Don't  try  to  be  smart  with  me!  And  don't 
think  I'm  asking  fool  questions  just  out  of 
curiosity!  I'm  related  to  Twombley-Crane. " 

«  Eh?  "  says  I,  gawpin'  at  her. 


UNDER  THE  WIBE  WITH  EDWIN    167 

11  Cousin  by  marriage,"  says  she. 

"  I— I  take  it  all  back  then,"  says  I.  "  Ex- 
cuse my  gettin'  so  gay.  Come  on  a  visit,  have 
you?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,"  says  she  hesitatin';  "  that  is,  I 
s'pose  we  have.  We  ain't  made  up  our  minds 
exactly." 

«  We?  "  says  I,  gazin'  around. 

"  Mr.  Leavitt  is  behind  the  tent  there,  as 

usual,"  says  she,  "  and  he My  land!  I 

guess  it's  jest  as  well  he  is,"  she  gasps,  as  a 
limousine  rolls  up  to  the  front  of  the  canopy,  a 
liveried  footman  hops  off  the  driver's  seat, 
whisks  open  the  door,  and  helps  unload  Mrs.  K. 
Taylor  French. 

Quite  some  wishbone  in  front  and  more  or 
less  spinal  column  aft  Mrs.  K.  Taylor  is  ex- 
posin'  as  she  brushes  past  us  up  the  strip  of 
red  carpet.  So  you  could  hardly  blame  the  old 
girl  for  bein'  jarred. 

"  Young  man,"  says  she,  turnin'  on  me  se- 
vere, "  what's  going  on  here  to-night?  " 

"  Dinner  dance,  that's  all,"  says  I. 

"  You  mean  they're  having  a  lot  of  company 
in?  "  says  she. 

I  nods. 

"Then  that  settles  it!"  says  she.  "We 
don't  go  a  step  nearer  to-night.  But  where  we 
will  stay,  goodness  only  knows!  " 

She  was  pikin'  off,  her  chin  in  the  air,  when 
it  struck  me  that  if  these  really  was  jay  rela- 
tions of  the  Twombley-Cranes,  maybe  I  ought 


168      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

to  lend  'em  a  helpin'  hand.  So  I  trails  along 
until  she  brings  up  beside  another  party  who 
seems  to  be  waitin '  patient  just  under  the  front 
windows. 

He's  a  tall,  stoop-shouldered  gent,  with  a 
grayish  mustache  and  a  good  deal  of  gold  watch 
chain  looped  across  his  vest.  In  each  hand 
he's  holdin'  a  package  careful  by  the  strings, 
and  between  his  feet  is  one  of  these  extension 
canvas  grips  that  you  still  see  in  use  out  in  the 
kerosene  circuit. 

"  Excuse  me,  Ma'am,"  says  I,  "  but  I'm 
more  or  less  a  friend  of  the  fam'ly,  and  if 
you've  cOme  on  special  to  visit  'em,  maybe 
you'd  better  wait  while  I  let  'em  know  you're 
here.  My  name's  McCabe,  and  if  you'll  give 
me  yours,  why " 

"  I'm  Mrs.  Sallie  Leavitt,  of  Clarks  Mills," 
says  the  old  girl. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  I,  "  Clarks  Mills.  Up 
Skowhegan  way,  ain't  it?  ' 

"  Vermont,"  says  she.  "  This  is  Mr. 
Leavitt.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Mc- 
Cabe, but  you  needn't  bother  about  tellin'  any- 
one anything.  If  they've  got  company,  that's 
enough.  I  wish  I'd  never  left  Clarks  Mills, 
that's  what  I  wish!  ' 

' '  Now,  Sallie !  ' '  protests  the  other  half  of 
the  sketch,  speakin'  mild  and  gentle. 

"  That'll  do,  Mr.  Leavitt!  "  says  she  de- 
cided. "  You  know  very  well  it  was  all  along 
of  your  fussing  and  fretting  about  never  hav- 


UNDEK  THE  WIRE  WITH  EDWIN    169 

ing  seen  your  cousin  that  we  come  to  make  this 
fool  trip,  anyway." 

"  I  realize  that,  Sallie,"  says  he;  "  but " 

"  Mr.  Leavitt,"  she  breaks  in,  "  will  you  be 
careful  of  them  pies?  "  Then  she  turns  to  me 
apologizin'.  "  Course,  it  does  seem  sort  of 
silly,  travelin'  around  New  York  with  two 
pumpkin  pies;  but  I  didn't  know  how  good  a 
cook  the  folks  had.  here;  and  besides  I  don't 
take  a  back  seat  for  anybody  when  it  comes 
to  mince  or  pumpkin.  You  see,  I  was  plan- 
ning to  surprise  Cousin  Twombley  by  slip- 
ping 'em  onto  the  table  to-morrow  for  break- 
fast." 

Say,  the  thought  of  what  the  Twombley- 
Cranes'  English  flunkies  would  do  at  the  sight 
of  pumpkin  pie  on  the  breakfast  table  was  most 
too  much  for  me.  As  it  was,  I  had  a  bad 
coughin'  fit,  and  when  I  recovered  I  suggests 
eager,  "  Well,  why  not?  They'll  keep  a  day 
or  so,  won't  they?  " 

"  Not  while  I'm  as  hungry  as  I  am  now," 
says  she.  "  And  I'm  dog  tired  too.  Young 
man,  where '11  we  find  a  good,  respectable  tavern 
around  here?  " 

"  A  which?  "  says  I.  "  Oh!  I  get  you — 
hotel.  Now  let's  see.  Why,  I  expect  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  jump  in  one  of  these 
motor  buses  and  ride  down  to — no,  I  might's 
well  go  along,  as  it's  right  on  my  way  home. 
Here's  one  coming  now." 

So  we  piles  in,  umbrella,  pies,  and  all,  and 


170      SHORTY  MtfCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

inside  of  half  an  hour  I've  landed  the  whole 
shootin'  match  safe  in  a  two-fifty  air-shaft 
room  in  one  of  those  punk  little  ten-story  hotels 
down  in  the  40 's.  I  showed  'em  how  to  work 
the  electric  light  switch,  got  'em  some  ice  water, 
and  pointed  out  the  fire  escape.  In  fact,  I  done 
everything  but  tuck  'em  in  bed,  and  I  had  said 
good-night  twice  and  was  makin'  my  getaway, 
when  Mrs.  Leavitt  follows  me  out  into  the  hall, 
shuttin'  Hubby  in  by  himself. 

".Just  one  thing  more,  Mr.  McCabe,"  says 
she.  "  I  guess  you  needn't  say  anything  to 
Twombley-Crane  about  our  bein'  here." 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.  "  Goin'  to  spring  it  on  him 
to-morrow  yourself!  " 

"  Maybe,"  says  she,  "  and  then  again  maybe 
I  won't  go  near  'em  at  all.  I'm  going  to  think 
it  over." 

"  I  see,"  says  I.  "  But  I  expect  Mr.  Leavitt 
will  be  up." 

"  What,  alone?  "  says  she.  "  Him!  Not 
much!  ' 

"  Oh!  "  says  I,  and  while  I  didn't  mean  it  to 
show,  I  expect  I  must  have  humped  my  eye- 
brows a  little.  Anyway,  she  comes  right  back 
at  me. 

"  Well,  why  should  he!  "  she  demands. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  says  I;  "  only  he — 
he's  the  head  of  the  house,  ain't  he!  ' 

"  No,  he  ain't,"  says  she.  "  I  don't  say  it  in 
a  boasting  spirit,  for  it's  always  been  one  of 
the  trials  of  my  life;  but  Mr.  Leavitt  ain't  at 


UNDER  THE  WIRE  WITH  EDWIN    171 

the  head  of  anything — never  was,  and  never 
will  be." 

"  Had  plenty  of  chance,  I  expect?  "  says  I 
sarcastic. 

1 1  Just  the  same  chances  other  men  have  had, 
and  better,"  says  she.  "  Why,  when  we  was 
first  married  I  thought  he  was  going  to  be  one 
of  the  biggest  men  in  this  country.  Everyone 
did.  He  looked  it  and  talked  it.  Talk?  He 
was  the  best  talker  in  the  county!  Is  yet,  for 
that  matter.  Course,  he'd  been  around  a  lot 
as  a  young  man — taught  school  in  Rutland  for 
two  terms,  and  visited  a  whole  summer  in  Bel- 
lows Falls.  Besides  there  was  the  blood,  him 
being  an  own  cousin  to  Twombley-Crane.  Just 
that  was  most  enough  to  turn  my  head,  even  if 
that  branch  of  the  family  never  did  have  much 
to  do  with  the  Leavitt  side.  But  it's  a  fact  that 
Mr.  Leavitt 's  mother  and  Twombley-Crane 's 
father  were  brother  and  sister." 

"  You  don't  mean  it!  "  says  I. 

"  Of  course,"  she  goes  on,  "  the  Leavitts 
always  stayed  poor  country  folks,  and  the 
Cranes  went  to  the  city  and  got  rich.  When  the 
old  homestead  was  left  to  Mr.  Leavitt,  though, 
he  said  he  wasn't  going  to  spend  the  rest  of  his 
life  on  an  old,  worn-out  farm.  No,  Sir!  He 
was  going  to  do  something  better  than  that, 
something  big !  We  all  believed  it  too.  For  the 
first  six  months  of  our  married  life  I  kept  my 
trunk  packed,  ready  to  start  any  minute  for 
anywhere,  expecting  him  to  find  that  grand 


172      SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

career  he'd  talked  so  much  about.  But  some- 
how we  never  started.  That  wa'n't  the  worst 
of  it,  either.  A  year  slipped  by,  and  we  hadn't 
done  a  thing, — didn't  even  raise  enough  pota- 
toes to  last  us  through  Thanksgivin ',  and  if  we 
hadn  't  sold  the  hay  standing  and  the  apple  crop 
on  the  trees  I  don't  know  how  we'd  got  through 
the  winter. 

"  Along  about  the  middle  of  March  I  got  my 
eyes  wide  open.  I  saw  that  if  anything  was 
done  to  keep  us  out  of  the  poorhouse  I'd  got  to 
do  it.  Old  Mr.  Clark  wanted  someone  to  help 
in  the  general  store  about  then,  and  I  took  the 
job  at  six  dollars  a  week.  Inside  of  a  year  I 
was  actin'  postmistress,  had  full  charge  of  the 
dry  goods  side,  did  all  the  grocery  buyin',  and 
was  agent  for  a  horse  rake  and  mower  concern. 
Six  months  later,  when  Mr.  Clark  gave  up  alto- 
gether and  the  store  was  for  sale,  I  jumped  in, 
mortgaged  the  Leavitt  place  all  it  would  stand, 
borrowed  fifteen  hundred  dollars  from  a 
brother-in-law  back  in  Nova  Scotia,  and  put  a 
new  sign  over  the  door.  That  was  over  thirty 
years  ago;  but  it's  there  yet.  It  reads,  '  Mrs. 
Sallie  Leavitt,  General  Merchandise.'  " 

"  But  where  did  Mr.  Leavitt  fit  in?  "  says  I. 

"  Humph!  '  says  she.  "  Mostly  he's  set 
around  the  store  and  talked.  Oh,  he  helps  with 
the  mail,  cooks  a  little  when  I'm  too  rushed  and 
ain't  got  any  hired  girl,  and  washes  dishes. 
That's  always  been  the  one  useful  thing  he 
could  do, — wash  dishes.  I  expect  that's  why 


UNDER  THE  WIRE  WITH  EDWIN    173 

everybody  at  the  Mills  calls  him  Mr.  Sallie 
Leavitt.  There!  It's  out.  I  don't  know  as  I 
ever  said  that  aloud  before  in  my  life.  I've 
been  too  much  ashamed.  But  I  might's  well 
face  the  truth  now.  He's  just  Mr.  Sallie 
Leavitt.  And  if  you  don't  think  that  hurts  for 
me  to  have  tQ  own  up  to  it,  then  you're  mighty 
mistaken.  Maybe  you  can  guess  too  why  I 
ain't  so  anxious  to  parade  a  husband  like  that 
before  folks." 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  I,  "  sometimes  a  man  gets 
tagged  with  a  nickname  like  that  and  don't  half 
deserve  it." 

"  Huh!  "  says  she.  "  You  don't  know  Mr. 
Leavitt  as  I  do.  I  wa'n't  goin'  to  mention  it; 
but — but — well,  he's  a  book  reader.'* 

"  A  what?  "  says  I. 

"  Reads  books,"  says  she.  "  Just  reads  and 
reads  and  reads.  He's  got  what  he  calls  our 
circulatin'  lib'ry  in  a  room  he's  fixed  up  over 
the  store.  Lends  out  books  at  five  cents  a  week, 
you  know.  But,  land!  he  reads  more  of  'em 
himself  than  any  ten  customers.  History,  ex- 
plorin'  books,  and  novels — specially  novels 
about  English  society  folks,  like  '  Lady  Thing- 
umbob's Daughter,'  and  so  on.  And  the  fool 
ideas  he  gets  from  'em!  I  expect  you'll  laugh, 
but  he  actually  tries  to  talk  and  act  like  them 
people  he  reads  about.  Learned  to  drink  tea 
out  of  books,  Mr.  Leavitt  has,  and  wants  me  to 
quit  the  store  every  afternoon  about  half  past 
four  and  drink  it  with  him.  Think  of  that! 


174      SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

And  instead  of  havin'  his  supper  at  night  he 
wants  to  call  it  dinner.  Did  you  ever?  Yes, 
Sir,  that's  the  kind  of  tomfoolery  I've  been 
puttin'  up  with  all  these  years,  and  tryin'  to 
hide  from  the  neighbors!  Maybe  you'll  notice 
I  always  call  him  Mr.  Leavitt?  That's  why;  to 
cover  up  the  fact  that  he's  only — well,  what 
they  call  him.  And  so,  cousin  or  no  cousin,  I 
don't  see  tow  I'm  goin'  to  bring  myself  to  let 
the  Twombley-Cranes  know.  Anyway,  I  want 
to  sleep  on  it  first.  That's  why  I'd  just  as  soon 
you  wouldn't  tell  'em  we're  here." 

"  I  see,"  says  I.  "  And  you  can  bank  on 
me." 

I  didn't  peep  a  word,  either.  It's  only  the 
followin'  evenin',  though,  that  Sadie  an- 
nounces : 

"  What  do  you  think,  Shorty?  A  Vermont 
cousin  of  Mr.  Twombley-Crane  is  in  town,  with 
his  wife,  and  they're  going  to  give  them  a  din- 
ner party  Friday  night. ' ' 

"  Gee!  "  says  I.    "  I'd  like  to  be  there." 

"You  will  be,"  says  she;  "for  you  are 
specially  invited." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "To  meet  the  poor  rela- 
tions? How's  that?  " 

"  Who  said  they  were  poor?  "  says  Sadie. 
"  Why,  Twombley-Crane  says  that  his  cousin's 
wife  is  one  of  the  shrewdest  business  women 
he's  ever  heard  of.  He  has  been  handling  her 
investments,  and  says  she  must  be  worth  half  a 
million,  at  least;  all  made  out  of  a  country 


UNDER  THE  WIRE  WITH  EDWIN    175 

store,  maple  sugar  bushes,  and  farm  mortgages. 
I'm  crazy  to  see  her,  aren't  you?  ' 

11  What— Sallie?  "  says  I.  "  Half  a  million! 
Must  be  some  mistake." 

Course  I  had  to  tell  her  then  about  the  couple 
I'd  run  across,  and  about  Mr.  Sallie,  and  the 
pies,  and  the  string  bonnet.  We  had  such  a 
warm  debate  too,  as  to  whether  she  was  really 
well  off  or  not,  that  next  day  my  curiosity  got 
the  best  of  me,  and  I  calls  up  the  hotel  to  see  if 
the  Leavitts  are  in.  Well,  they  was,  and  Mrs. 
Leavitt,  when  she  finds  who  it  is,  asks  pleadin' 
if  I  won't  run  up  and  see  'em  a  little  while. 

"  Please  come,"  says  she;  "  for  I'm  com- 
pletely flabbergasted.  It's — it's  about  Mr. 
Leavitt." 

11  Why,  sure,"  says  I.    "  I'll  come  right  up." 

I  finds  'em  sittin'  in  their  dull,  bare  little  hotel 
room,  one  on  each  side  of  the  bed,  with  the  ex- 
tension grip  half  packed  on  the  floor.  "  Well," 
says  I,  "  what's  up!  " 

"  Ask  him,"  says  she,  noddin'  at  Mr.  Sallie. 

But  Leavitt  only  hangs  his  head  guilty  and 
shuffles  his  feet.  "  Then  I'll  tell  you,"  says 
she.  ' '  Yesterday  he  slipped  out,  hunted  up  Jiis 
cousin,  and  got  us  invited  to  dinner.  More'n 
that,  he  said  we'd  come." 

* '  Well,  why  not  go  1  "  says  I. 

"  Because,"  says  she,  "  I — I  just  can't  do  it. 
I — I'm — well,  we've  been  around  some  since  we 
got  here,  lookin'  into  the  big  stores  and  so  on, 
and  I've  been  noticin'  the  women,  how  they 


176      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

talk  and  act  and  dress  and — and — oh,  I'm 
afraid,  that's  all!  " 

11  Why,  Sallie!  "  says  Mr.  Leavitt. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  insists.  "I'm  plumb 
scared  at  the  thought  of  mixin'  with  folks  like 
that — just  plumb  scared.  And,  as  you  -know, 
Mr.  Leavitt,  it's  the  first  time  in  my  life  I've 
ever  been  afraid  of  anything." 

"  Yes,  that's  so,"  says  he,  "  that's  so,  Sallie. 
But  you're  not  going  to  be  afraid  now.  Why 
should  you?  " 

"Listen  to  him,  Mr.  McCabe!  "  says  she. 
"  Do  you  know  what  he  wants  me  to  do?  Spend 
a  lot  of  money  on  clothes  and  rig  myself  up 
like — like  that  woman  we  saw  the  other  night !  ' ' 

"  And  you're  going  to  do  it  too,"  says  Mr. 
Leavitt.  "  You  can  afford  to  have  the  best 
there  is, — a  Paris  frock,  and  the  things  that 
go  with  it.  I  mean  you  shall,  not  for  my  sake, 
but  for  your  own.  You're  a  wonderful  woman, 
Sallie,  and  you  ought  to  know  it  for  once  in 
your  life.  I  want  my  cousin  to  know  it  too. 
You've  not  only  got  more  brains  than  most 
women,  but  you're  mighty  good  looking,  and  in 
the  proper  clothes  you  could  hold  up  your  head 
in  any  company." 

"  Pshaw!  ':  says  Mrs.  Leavitt,  almost 
blushin'.  "  Right  before  Mr.  McCabe  too!  " 

"  Well,  isn't  it  so?  "  demands  Mr.  Leavitt, 
turnin'  to  me. 

"  Why — er — of  course  it  is,"  says  I. 

I  tried  to  make  it  enthusiastic,  and  if  it  come 


UNDER  THE  WIRE  WITH  EDWIN    177 

out  a  little  draggy  it  must  have  been  on  account 
of  that  ancient  lid  of  hers  that's  hangin'  in  full 
view  on  one  of  the  bedposts.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she's  one  of  these  straight-built,  husky, 
well-colored  dames,  with  fairly  good  lines  in 
spite  of  what  the  village  dressmaker  had  done 
to  her. 

"  There!  "  says  Mr.  Leavitt.  "  Now  let's 
have  no  more  talk  of  going  home.  Let's  go  out 
and  get  the  clothes  right  now.  Perhaps  Mr. 
McCabe  can  show  us  where  we  can  buy  the  right 
things. ' ' 

"  Land  sakes!  What  a  man  you  are,  Mr. 
Leavitt!  "  says  Sallie,  weakenin'  a  little. 

Five  minutes  more  of  that  kind  of  talk,  and 
he  'd  got  her  to  tie  on  her  bonnet.  Then,  with 
me  leadin'  the  way  and  him  urgin'  her  on 
from  behind,  we  starts  on  our  shoppin'  expe- 
dition. 

"  It's  to  be  a  complete  outfit,  from  the 
ground  up,  ain't  it?  "  says  I. 

"  That's  it,"  says  Mr.  Leavitt. 

So,  instead  of  botherin'  with  any  department 
stores,  I  steers  'em  straight  for  Madame  La- 
plante's,  where  they  set  you  back  hard,  but  can 
furnish  a  whole  trousseau,  I'm  told,  at  an 
hour's  notice. 

Mrs.  Leavitt  was  still  protestin'  that  maybe 
she  wouldn't  do  any  more  than  look  at  the 
things,  and  how  she  wouldn't  promise  to  wear 
'em  even  if  she  did  buy  a  few;  but  you  know 
what  smooth  salesladies  they  have  in  such 


178      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

places.  When  I  left  two  of  'em  was  gushin' 
over  Mrs.  Leavitt's  chestnut-tinted  hair  that 
she  had  piled  up  in  slick  coils  under  the  bonnet, 
and  a  third  was  runnin'  a  tape  over  her  skill- 
ful. If  it  had  been  anybody  but  Mrs.  Sallie 
Leavitt,  I'd  have  hated  to  take  chances  on 
havin'  to  write  the  check  when  it  was  all 
over. 

"Well,  is  she  coming?"  asks  Sadie  that 
night. 

"  Search  me,"  says  I.  "I  wouldn't  bet  a 
nickel  either  way." 

That  was  Wednesday.  All  day  Thursday  I 
was  expectin'  to  be  called  in  again,  or  hear  that 
Sallie  had  made  a  break  back  for  Vermont. 
But  not  a  word.  Nor  on  Friday,  either.  So  at 
seven  o'clock  that  night,  as  we  collected  in  the 
Twombley-Cranes'  drawin'  room,  there  was 
some  suspense ;  for  at  least  half  of  us  were  wise 
to  the  situation.  At  seven-fifteen,  though,  they 
arrives. 

And,  say,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Mrs. 
Sallie  Leavitt  of  Clarks  Mills!  I  don't  know 
what  it  cost  to  work  the  miracle,  but,  believe 
me,  it  was  worth  twice  the  money!  Leavitt  was 
dead  right.  All  she  needed  was  the  regalia. 
And  she'd  got  it  too, — sort  of  a  black  lacy  crea- 
tion, with  jet  spangles  all  over  it,  and  long, 
sweepin'  folds  from  the  waist  down,  and  with 
all  that  hair  of  hers  done  up  flossy  and  topped 
with  a  fancy  rhinestone  headdress,  she  looked 
tall  and  classy.  And  stunnin"?  Say,  she  had  a 


UNDER  THE  WIRE  WITH  EDWIN    179 

neck  and  shoulders  that  made  that  Mrs.  K. 
Taylor  French  party  look  like  a  museum  ex- 
hibit ! 

Then  there  was  Mr.  Leavitt,  all  dolled  up  as 
correct  as  any  cotillion  leader,  balancin'  his 
silk  tile  graceful  on  one  wrist,  and  strokin' 
his  close-cropped  mustache  with  his  white 
glove,  just  as  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward  describes 
on  page  147. 

"  Well!  "  gasps  Sadie.  "  I  thought  you  said 
they  were  a  pair  of  countrified  freaks !  ' ' 

"  You  should  have  seen  'em  when  they 
landed  with  the  pies,"  says  I. 

And,  if  you'll  believe  me,  Mr.  Leavitt  not 
only  had  on  the  costume,  but  he  had  the  lines 
too.  Sounded  a  little  booky  in  spots  maybe; 
but  he  was  right  there  with  the  whole  bag  of 
chatty  tricks, — :the  polite  salute  for  the  hostess, 
a  neat  little  epigram  when  it  come  his  turn  to 
fill  in  the  talk,  a  flash  or  so  of  repartee,  and  an 
anecdote  that  got  a  good  hand  all  round  the 
table.  You  see,  he  was  sort  of  doublin'  in  brass, 
as  it  were;  conversin'  for  two,  you  know.  For 
Sallie  was  playin'  it  safe,  watchin'  how  the 
others  negotiated  the  asparagus,  passin'  up  all 
the  dishes  she  couldn't  dope  out,  and  sayin' 
mighty  little.  Mostly  she's  watchin'  Mr.  Lea- 
vitt, her  eyes  growin'  brighter  and  rounder  as 
the  meal  progresses,  and  at  last  fairly  beamin' 
across  the  table  at  him. 

I  didn't  quite  get  the  slant  of  all  this  until 
later,  when  we'd  finished  and  was  trailin'  into 


180      SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

the  lib'ry.  Mrs.  Leavitt  breaks  loose  from 
Twombley-Crane  and  falls  back  alongside  of 
me. 

"  Well,  how  goes  it?  "  says  I.  "  Wasn't  so 
bad,  after  all,  was  it?  ' 

"  Don't  tell  anyone,"  she  whispers,  "  but 
I'm  so  scared  I'd  like  to  yell  and  run  away.  I 
would  too,  if  it  wasn't  for  Edwin." 

"  Who?  "  says  I. 

"  Mr.  Leavitt,"  says  she.  "He's  going  to 
be  Edwin  to  me  after  this,  though — my  Edwin. 
Isn't  he  great,  though?  Course,  I  always  knew 
he  was  a  good  talker,  and  all  that;  but  to  do  it 
in  comp'ny,  before  a  lot  of  city  folks — well,  I 
must  say  I'm  mighty  proud  of  such  a  husband, 
mighty  proud!  And  anybody  who  ever  calls 
him  Mr.  Sallie  Leavitt  again  has  got  to  reckon 
with  me!  They'll  never  have  a  chance  to.  do  it 
in  darks  Mills.  The  Mills  ain't  good  enough 
for  Edwin.  I've  just  found  that  out.  And  to 
think  that  all  these  years  I've  believed  it  was 
the  other  way  round!  But  I'm  going  to  make 
up  for  all  that.  You'll  see !  " 

Uh-huh!  Mrs.  Leavitt  Js  a  woman  of  her 
word.  Soon  as  she  can  settle  up  things  at  the 
store,  foreclose  a  few  mortgages,  and  unload 
a  few  blocks  of  stock  that  can't  be  carried 
safe  without  watchin',  it's  goin'  to  be  the 
grand  European  tour  for  her  and  Edwin, 
and  maybe  a  house  in  town  when  they  come 
back. 

"  Which  only  goes  to  show,  Mrs.  McCabe," 


UNDEK  THE  WIEE  WITH  EDWIN    181 

says  I,  "  how  it's  never  too  late  to  discover 
that,  after  all,  old  Hubby's  the  one  best  bet  on 
the  card." 

"  Pooh!  "  says  Sadie.    "  It  isn't  always  safe 
to  let  him  know  it,  even  if  you  have." 


CHAPTEE  XII 

A  FIFTY-FIFTY   SPLIT   WITH   HUNK 

"  AND  believe  me,  Shorty,"  goes  on  Mr. 
Hunk  Burley,  tappin'  a  stubby  forefinger  on 
my  knee,  and  waggin'  his  choppin '-block  head 
energetic,  "  when  I  get  behind  a  proposition 
yuh  goin'  to  get  some  action. " 

"  Sure,  I  know,  Hunk,"  says  I,  glancin'  up 
at  the  clock  uneasy  and  squirmin'  a  bit  in  the 
swing  chair. 

You  see,  this  had  been  goin'  on  now  for  near 
an  hour,  and  while  it  might  be  more  or  less  en- 
tertainin'  as  well  as  true,  I  wa'n't  crazy  about 
listenin'  to  it  all  the  afternoon.  For  one  thing, 
I  wa'n't  comin'  in  on  his  scheme.  Not  a 
chance.  I  can  be  bilked  into  buyin'  tickets  for 
a  raffle,  even  when  I  wouldn't  take  the  junk 
that's  put  up  as  a  gift,  and  I'm  easy  in  other 
ways;  but  when  it  comes  to  any  gate-money 
game,  from  launchin'  a  musical  comedy  to 
openin'  a  new  boxin'  club,  I'm  Tight  Tommy 
with  the  time  lock  set.  None  in  mine!  I've  had 
my  guesses  as  to  what  the  public  wants,  and  I 
know  I'm  a  perfectly  punk  prophet. 

Besides,  it  was'  about  time  for  J.  Bayard 
Steele  to  show  up  with  this  gent  from  Wash- 

182 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK    183 

ington,  Cuyler  Morrison  De  Kay,  and — well, 
I'd  just  as  soon  not  be  bothered  to  explain 
Hunk  Burley  to  a  pair  like  that.  You  know  the 
kind  of  bygone  friends  that  do  need  explainin' 
— well,  Hunk  needed  it  bad ;  for  as  far  as  looks 
went  he  was  about  the  crudest  party  that  ever 
sported  a  diamond  elephant  stickpin  or  chewed 
twenty-five-cent  cigars  for  a  steady  diet. 

Built  wide  and  substantial,  Hunk  was,  with 
the  longest  arms  you  ever  saw  outside  an  iron 
cage,  and  a  set  of  rugged  features  that  had  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountain  lookin'  like  a  ribbon 
clerk.  Keg'lar  cave  dweller's  face,  it  was;  and 
with  his  bristly  hair  growin'  down  to  a  point 
just  above  his  eyes,  and  the  ear  tufts,  and  the 
mossy-backed  paws — well,  if  there  ever  was  a 
throw-back  to  the  Stone  Age  he  was  it. 

As  a  rubber  in  my  old  trainin'  camp  outfit, 
though,  Hunk  had  his  good  points.  I've  gone 
on  the  table  to  him  with  a  set  of  shoulder 
muscles  as  stiff  as  a  truck  trace  and  inside  of 
half  an  hour  jumped  up  as  limber  as  a  whale- 
bone whip.  And  I'd  never  sign  up  for  more'n 
a  ten-round  go  without  sendin'  for  Hunk  first 
thing  after  the  forfeits  was  up.  Course,  when 
it  come  to  society,  there  was  others  I  liked  bet- 
ter, and  I  expect  after  I  quit  the  ring  I  didn't 
take  any  particular  pains  to  keep  his  name  in 
my  address  book. 

But  Hunk  was  one  of  the  old  crowd  that 
didn't  need  much  dodgin'.  He  went  his  way 
like  I  went  mine,  and  I  hadn't  seen  him  for 


184      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

years  when  lie  tramps  into  the  studio  here  the 
other  noon,  treadin'  heavy  on  his  heels  and 
wearin'  this  suit  of  peace-disturbin'  plaids.  He 
hadn't  climbed  the  stairs  just  for  any  Auld 
Lang  Syne  nonsense,  either.  He  was  there  on 
business. 

That  is,  it  seemed  like  business  to  him;  for, 
in  his  special  way,  Hunk  had  been  comin'  along. 
He  hadn't  stuck  to  bein'  a  rubber.  He'd  done 
a  strong-man  turn  with  a  medicine  top  for 
awhile,  then  he'd  worked  into  the  concession 
game  on  the  county  fair  circuit,  managed  a 
Ferris  wheel  and  carrousel  outfit,  and  even 
swung  an  Uncle  Tom  troupe,  with  six  real 
bloodhounds,  through  the  town  halls  of  four- 
teen States. 

"  Pullin'  down  the  kale  by  the  double  hands- 
ful,  mind  you,"  says  Hunk.  "  But  no  more! 
The  movies  has  queered  the  Topsy  business. 
Absolutely!  I  seen  it  comin'  just  in  time,  and 
I've  been  layin'  low  until  I  could  find  something 
to  beat  it.  Say,  I've  got  it  too.  Not  for  this 
territory.  I'll  give  the  film  people  two  years 
more  to  kill  themselves  in  the  North,  with  the 
rot  they're  puttin'  out.  But  in  the  South  they 
ain't  got  such  a  hold,  and  the  folks  are  differ- 
ent. They're  just  old  style  enough  down  there 
to  fall  for  a  street  parade  and  fifty-cent  seats 
on  the  blue  benches.  They  got  the  coin  too — 
don't  make  no  mistake  about  that.  And  this 
Great  Australian  Hippodrome  will  make  'em 
loosen  up  like  a  Rube  showin'  his  best  girl  what 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK    185 

he  can  do  throwin'  baseballs  at  the  dummies. 
Yea,  Bo!  It's  the  biggest  bargain  on  the  mar- 
ket too.  Come  in  with  me,  Shorty,  on  a  half 
int'rest,  splittin'  fifty-fifty." 

"  Too  big  a  gamble,  Hunk,"  says  I.  "  I've 
seen  more  money  dropped  on  ring  shows 
than " 

11  But  we  carry  a  pair  of  boxin'  kangaroos," 
he  breaks  in  eager,  "  that  pulls  an  act  they  go 
nutty  over.  And  our  tribe  of  original  wild 
Bush  people  has  never  been  shown  this  side  of 
Melbourne." 

"  Sorry,  Hunk,"  says  I,  "  but  if  I  had  all 
that  money  tied  up  in  billboard  sheets  and 
smoky  canvas,  I  couldn't  sleep  well  on  windy 
nights.  None  of  your  flat-car  hippodromes  for 
me.  That's  final!  Besides,  I  got  a  date  with 
a  couple  of  swells  that's  liable  to  show  up  here 
any  minute,  and  I  ought  to " 

What  I  really  ought  to  have  done  was  to 
have  chucked  a  table  cover  over  Hunk  and 
played  him  for  a  piece  of  statuary ;  but  before  I 
can  make  a  move  in  walks  J.  Bayard  and  this 
Washington  gent.  Next  minute  we  was  bein' 
introduced,  and  all  I  can  do  is  stand  in  front 
of  Hunk  with  one  hand  behind  me,  givin'  him 
the  fade-away  signal  energetic. 

Does  he  get  it?  Not  Hunk!  The  one  real 
sensitive  spot  in  his  system  can  be  reached  only 
by  sluggin'  him  behind  the  ear  with  a  bung 
starter,  and  I  didn't  have  one  handy.  He 
shoves  his  chair  back  into  the  corner  and  con- 


186      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

tinues  to  gawp;  so  I  just  has  to  let  on  that  he 
ain't  there  at  all. 

Course  I'd  been  put  wise  to  who  this  Cuyler 
Morrison  De  Kay  was.  He's  what  Mr.  Steele 
calls  an  object  of  altruism.  In  other  words, 
he's  No.  7  on  Pyramid  Gordon's  list,  and  our 
job  is  to  frame  up  for  him  some  kind  and  gen- 
erous deed,  accordin'  to  the  specifications  of 
the  will.  As  usual  too,  J.  Bayard  had  got  all 
balled  up  over  doin'  it;  for  while  Mr.  De  Kay 
ain't  quite  the  plute  he  looks,  it  turns  out  he's 
holdin'  down  one  of  them  government  cinches, 
with  a  fat  salary,  mighty  little  real  work,  and 
no  worry.  He's  a  widower,  and  a  real  elegant 
gent  too.  You  could  tell  that  by  the  wide  ribbon 
on  his  shell  eyeglasses  and  the  gray  suede 
gloves. 

I  could  see  in  a  minute  that  he'd  sort  of  put 
the  spell  on  Steele,  most  likely  because  he  was 
a  genuine  sample  of  what  J.  Bayard  was  givin' 
only  a  fair  imitation  of.  You  know,  one  of 
these  straight-backed,  aristocratic  old  boys  that 
somehow  has  the  marks  of  havin'  been  every- 
where, seen  everything,  and  done  everything. 
You'd  expect  him  to  be  able  to  mix  a  salad 
dressin'  a  la  Montmartre,  and  reel  off  anec- 
dotes about  the  time  when  he  was  a  guest  of  the 
Grand  Duke  So  and  So  at  his  huntin'  lodge. 
Kind  of  a  faded,  thin-blooded,  listless  party, 
somewhere  in  the  late  fifties,  with  droopy  eye 
corners  and  a  sarcastic  bite  to  his  offhand  re- 
marks. 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK    187 

I  may  as  well  admit  that  I  didn't  take  so 
kindly  to  Cuyler  from  the  first.  Also  I  was  a 
little  peeved  at  J.  Bayard  when  I  discovers  he's 
lugged  him  up  here  without  fin  din'  out  much 
about  him.  Hadn't  even  asked  De  Kay  how  it 
was  him  and  Pyramid  Gordon  had  bumped  up 
against  one  another.  So  I  fires  that  at  him 
straight. 

"  Let's  see,"  says  I,  "  where  was  it  you  and 
Mr.  Gordon  got  mixed  up?  " 

"  Gordon?  "  says  he,  shruggin'  his  shoul- 
ders and  smilin'  cynical.  "  Really,  I  can't 
conceive  just  why  he  should  remember  me. 
True,  during  our  brief  acquaintance,  he  showed 
a  most  active  dislike  for  me;  but  I  assure  you 
it  was  not  mutual.  A  man  of  Gordon's 

type Bah!  One  simply  ignores  them,  you 

know. ' ' 

"  You  don't  say!  "  says  I.  "  Now  I  had  an 
idea  that  wa'n't  so  dead  easy — ignorin'  Pyra- 
mid." 

Cuyler  humps  his  gray  eyebrows  as  if  he 
was  slightly  annoyed.  "  I  was  referring 
merely  to  his  offensive  personality,"  he  goes 
on.  "  One  does  not  quarrel  with  a  bulldog  for 
its  lack  of  manners." 

* '  Ah,  come !  ' ',  says  I.  ' '  Maybe  he  took  you 
for  one  of  these  parlor  spaniels  and  was  tryin* 
to  throw  a  scare  into  you  witjb.  a  few  growls." 

I  could  hear  J.  Bayard  gasp  protesting  but 
Cuyler  shrugs  it  off  without  wincin'.  "  Just 
how  he  regarded  me  was  a  subject  to  which  I 


188      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

gave  not  the  slightest  thought,"  says  he.  "I 
was  concerned  only  with  his  enterprise  of  cross- 
ing the  Peoria  &  Dayton  at  grade  in  the  face 
of  an  injunction  issued  by  the  State  supreme 
court.  You  see,  I  happened  to  be  president  of 
the  road  at  the  time." 

"  Now  we're  gettin'  to  the  plot  of  the  piece," 
says  I.  "  You  blocked  him  off,  eh?  " 

"  I  did  my  best,"  says  Mr.  De  Kay.  "  Of 
course  I  was  not  a  practical  railroad  man.  I'd 
been  somewhat  of  a  figurehead,  you  understand. 
But  in  this  emergency  I  was  called  back  from 
Europe  and  at  the  urgent  request  of  the  di- 
rectors I  assumed  active  charge.  My  first  step 
was  to  secure  the  injunction." 

"  Which  worried  him,  I  expect?  "  says  I, 
winkin'  at  J.  Bayard. 

"  Quite  as  much  as  if  I  had  sent  a  note  by 
my  office  boy,"  says  Cuyler.  "  He  rushed  a 
construction  train  with  two  hundred  men  to 
the  spot  and  gave  the  order  himself  to  tear  up 
our  tracks.  Well,  it  was  rather  a  spirited  con- 
test. I  mobilized  our  entire  working  force,  had 
them  sworn  in  as  deputy  sheriffs,  and  kept 
three  switch  engines  moving  up  and  down  the 
line.  For  forty-eight  hours  we  held  them 
back." 

"  And  then?  "  says  I. 

Cuyler  executes  that  careless  shoulder  shrug 
once  more.  "  Rifles,"  says  he.  "I  suppose  I 
should  have  retaliated  with  machine  guns;  but 
I  preferred  to  put  my  trust  in  the  law  of  the 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK 

land.  Of  course  I  found  out  how  absurd  that 
was  later  on.  Gordon  crossed  our  grade. 
After  four  or  five  years  of  expensive  litigation 
we  gave  up.  By  that  time  our  road  had  become 
part  of  the  Gordon  system.  I  was  glad  to  get 
48  for  my  holdings ;  so  you  see  his  victory  was 
quite  complete.  But  the  only  real  personal 
contact  I  had  with  him  was  during  those  two 
days  of  the  crossing  war  when  we  took  our 
meals  at  the  wretched  little  hotel,  facing  each 
other  across  the  table.  Fancy !  His  coarse  at- 
tempts to  treat  the  situation  humorously  were 
more  offensive,  if  anything,  than  his  guerrilla 
business  tactics.  An  ill-bred,  barbarous  fellow, 
this  Gordon  of  yours." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  He  wa'n't  any  parlor 
entertainer,  that's  a  fact;  but  take  it  from  me, 
Mr.  De  Kay,  he  was  a  good  deal  of  a  man,  for 
all  that." 

"  So,  I  presume,  was  Captain  Kidd,"  sneers 
Cuyler,  "  and  Jesse  James." 

"  Maybe,"  I  comes  back  kind  of  hot.  "  But 
Pyramid  Gordon  was  white  enough  to  want 
to  divide  his  pile  among  the  poor  prunes 
he'd  put  out  here  and  there  along  the  way. 
You're  on  the  list  too,  and  the  chief  object  of 
this  little  tete-a-tete  is  to  frame  up  some  plan 
of  givin'  you  a  boost." 

"  So  Mr.  Steele  gave  me  to  understand," 
says  Cuyler.  "  In  my  case,  however,  the 
reparation  comes  a  little  late.  The  fact  is, 
Gentlemen,  that  I — well,  why  quibble?  I  may 


190      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

be  good  for  another  ten  or  a  dozen  years.  But 
I  shall  go  on  just  as  I've  been  going  on,  follow- 
ing my  daily  routine  in  the  department,  at  my 
club,  at  my  bachelor  quarters.  You  get  into  it, 
you  know, — bath,  breakfast,  desk,  dinner,  a 
rubber  or  two  of  bridge,  and  bed.  A  trifle  mo- 
notonous, but  a  comfortable,  undisturbed,  as- 
sured existence.  I  may  have  had  ambitions 
once, — yes,  I'm  quite  sure, — but  no  longer. 
After  my — er — my  elimination,  I  got  this  place 
In  the  department.  There  I've  stuck  for  fifteen 
years.  I've  settled  into  official  routine;  I'm 
fixed  there  hard  and  fast.  It's  so  with  many  of 
us.  Most  of  us  recognize  the  hopelessness  of 
ever  pulling  out.  At  least  I  do,  fully.  As  I 
sometimes  confess,  I  am  merely  one  of  the  un- 
buried  dead.  And  there  you  are !  ' : 

Kind  of  took  me  off  my  guard,  that  did.  And 
me  about  to  knock  him  so  hard !  I  glances  over 
at  J.  Bayard  sort  of  foolish,  and  he  stares  back 
vacant  and  helpless.  Somehow  we'd  never  been 
up  against  a  proposition  like  this,  and  it  had  us 
fannin'  the  air. 

"  Unburied  dead,  eh?  "  says  I.  "Oh  come, 
Mr.  De  Kay,  ain't  that  drawin'  it  a  little 
strong?  Why,  you  ought  to  have  lots  of  punch 
left  in  you  yet.  All  you  got  to  do  is  buck 
up." 

* '  The  optimism  of  youth ! ' '  says  he.  "I 
suppose  I  ought  to  feel  grateful,  Professor  Mc- 
Cabe,  for  your  well  intentioned  advice.  And  I 
can  almost  say  that  I  wish  I  might " 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK    191 

He  don't  get  a  chance  to  finish;  for  this  is 
right  where  Hunk  Burley,  that  I'd  almost  for- 
got was  in  the  room,  suddenly  kicks  into  the 
debate.  I'd  felt  one  or  two  tugs  at  my  coat; 
but  this  last  one  was  so  vigorous  it  nearly 
whirls  me  around.  And  as  I  turns  I  finds  him 
blinkin'  and  splutterin'  excited,  like  he'd 
swallowed  his  cigar. 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  What's  troublm'  you, 
Hunk?  " 

"  He — he's  the  guy,"  says  Hunk,  "  the  very 
guy!  " 

"  Wha-a-at!  "  says  I,  followin'  the  look  in 
them  wide-set  pop  eyes  of  his.  "  Who  is?  " 

"  Him,"  says  he,  pointin'  to  Cuyler.  "  He's 
a  reg'lar  guy,  he  is;  the  spit  and  image  of  what 
I  been  wantin'  to  connect  with  these  last  six 
months.  Say,  Shorty,  put  me  next." 

"  Gwan!  "  says  I.  "  You  ain't  supposed  to 
exist.  Paint  your  funnels  black  and  run  the 
blockade." 

At  which  Cuyler,  who  has  been  starin'  cu- 
rious through  his  glasses,  steps  forward. 
"  What  is  it?  "  says  he.  "  Do  I  understand 
that  the  gentleman  wishes  to  speak  to  me?  ' 

"  You're  hootin',"  says  Hunk.  "  Only  I 
ain't  no  gent.  I'm  just  Hunk  Burley,  managin' 
producer.  Tent  shows  is  my  line,  ring  or  stage, 
and  I'm  carryin'  a  proposition  up  my  cuff  that 
means  a  lot  of  easy  money  to  whoever  grabs  it 
first.  Do  you  get  me?  ' 

"  Ah,  stow  it,  Hunk!  "  says  I.     "  Mr.  De 


192      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Kay  ain't  one  of  your  crowd.    Can't  you  see 
he's " 

"  But  with  him  out  front,"  breaks  in  Hunk 
eager,  "  and  pullin'  that  swell  line  of  patter, 
we  could  pack  the  reserved  benches  from  dirt 
to  canvas.  Honest,  we  could!  Say,  Mister, 
lemme  put  it  to  you  on  the  level.  You  buy  in 
with  me  on  this  Great  Australian  Hippodrome, 
a  half  int'rest  for  twelve  thou  cash,  leave  me 
the  transportation  and  talent  end,  while  you  do 
the  polite  gab  at  the  main  entrance,  and  if  we 
don't  lug  away  the  daily  receipts  in  sugar  bar- 
rels I'll  own  the  boxin'  kangaroos  for  first 
cousins.  Why,  it's  the  chance  of  a  lifetime! 
What  do  you  say  to  it?  " 

And  you  should  have  seen  the  look  on  Cuyler 
Morrison's  aristocratic  map  as  he  inspects 
Hunk  up  and  down  and  it  dawns  on  him  that 
he's  bein'  invited  to  break  into  the  circus  busi- 
ness. But  after  the  first  shock  has  passed  off 
he  ends  by  smilin'  indulgent. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  says  he,  "  you  flatter  me. 
My  qualifications  for  such  a  partnership  are 
entirely  too  limited. ' ' 

"  If  you  mean  you  couldn't  get  away  with 
it,"  says  Hunk,  "  you  got  another  guess.  Why, 
in  one  forenoon  I  could  coach  you  up  for  a  spiel 
that  would  set  'em  mobbin'  the  ticket  wagons! 
And  with  you  in  a  white  silk  lid  drivin'  four 
spotted  ponies  and  leadin'  the  grand  street 
parade — say  they'd  be  lettin'  out  the  schools 
for  our  matinees." 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK    193 

Out  of  the  tail  of  my  eye  I  could  see  that  J. 
Bayard  was  speechless  with  indignation.  But 
what  could  I  do?  The  only  way  of  stoppin' 
Hunk  was  to  choke  him,  which  wa'n't  any  pink 
tea  proce.edin'.  Besides,  Cuyler  seems  to  be 
mildly  entertained  at  it  all. 

"  A  fascinating  picture,  truly!  "  says  he. 
"  I  have  often  envied  those  important  person- 
ages at  the  head  of  street  parades  without  ever 
dreaming  that  some  day  the  opportunity  might 

come  to  me  of But  alas !  I  have  no  twelve 

thousand  to  invest  in  such  an  estimable  enter- 
prise. ' ' 

11  Ah,  quit  your  kiddin'!  "  says  Hunk. 

He  wouldn't  believe  for  a  minute  that  Cuyler 
couldn't  cash  a  check  for  twice  that,  wouldn't 
even  listen  to  Mr.  De  Kay  while  he  protests 
that  really  he's  a  poor  man  livin'  on  a  gov- 
ernment salary.  Hunk  knew  better.  The  rib- 
bon on  the  shell-rim  eyeglasses  had  got  him, 
too. 

"  Very  well,"  laughs  Cuyler,  givin'  up  the 
attempt.  "  But  I  must  insist  that  I  have  no 
surging  ambition,  at  my  time  of  life,  to  drive 
spotted  ponies  in  public.  In  fact,  I've  no  ambi- 
tions at  all. ' ' 

"  Then  that's  just  why  you  ought  to  hook 
up  with  me,"  says  Hunk.  "  Wait  until  you've 
been  out  a  week  on  the  road;  that'll  be  enough 
to  get  you  interested.  And  take  it  from  me, 
there  ain't  any  game  like  it, — pilin'  out  of  your 
berth  at  a  new  pitch  every  mornin',  breakfast 


SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

in  the  mess  car  on  the  sidin',  strollin'  out  to  the 
grounds  and  watchin'  the  pegs  sunk,  drivin7 
around  town  to  take  a  glance  at  the  paper  dis- 
play, formin'  on  for  the  parade,  sizin'  up  the 
sidewalk  crowds,  and  a  couple  of  hours  later 
seem'  'em  collectin'  from  all  sides  around  the 
big  top ;  then  at  night,  when  you  've  had  two  big 
houses,  to  check  up  the  receipts  and  figure  out 
how  much  you  are  to  the  good.  Say,  don 't  make 
any  mistake,  that's  livin'!  It  ain't  layin'  back 
easy  and  havin'  things  handed  you  on  a  platter : 
it's  goin'  out  after  wfyat  you  want,  your  jaw  set 
and  your  shoulders  braced,  and  bringin'  home 
the  bacon." 

Cuyler,  he's  still  listenin'  sort  of  amused; 
but  he's  inspectin'  this  crude  specimen  in  front 
of  him  with  a  little  more  int'rest.  He  shakes 
his  head  though. 

"  I've  no  doubt  the  life  is  all  you  describe," 
says  he.  "  However,  it  is  not  for  me." 

"  Why  not?  "  demands  Hunk.  "  Didn't  I 
just  hear  you  tellin'  how  you  was  travelin'  with 
a  bunch  of  dead  ones?  Ain't  stuck  on  it,  are 
you?  And  the  answer  is,  Come  out  of  your 
trance.  I  take  it  you  ain't  anybody  special 
where  you  are  now;  just  one  of  the  cogs.  Buy 
in  with  me,  and  I'll  make  you  the  main  belt. 
That's  right!  Say,  I'll  tell  you  what!  We'll 
feature  you  on  the  four-sheets — De  Kay  &  Co.'s 
Grand  Australian  Hippodrome.  Your  picture 
in  a  wreath  of  roses, — no,  a  horseshoe's  better, 
— and  we'll  play  up  the  show  as  a  refined,  edu- 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK    195 

catin',  moral  exhibition.  They'll  believe  it 
when  they  see  you.  You'll  be  the  big  noise,  the 
man  in  front.  You'll  hear  'em  pas  sin'  the  tip 
along  the  curb  as  the  parade  swings  by, 
1  That's  him— Mr.  De  Kay!  '  And  you'll  be 
the  one  to  receive  the  Mayor  and  his  wife  and 
show  'em  to  their  arena  box.  Every  day  a  new 
Mayor  in  a  new  town.  And  you'll  know  'em  all, 
and  they'll  know  you.  What!  That'll  be  bein' 
somebody,  eh?  " 

He'd  stepped  up,  right  in  front  of  Cuyler, 
talkin'  free  and  easy,  as  one  man  to  another. 
But  then  he  always  was  that  way.  Not  fresh, 
you  know,  nor  cocky ;  but  just  as  if  he  was  as 
good  as  anybody,  and  allowed  everybody  was 
as  good  as  him.  He's  lookin'  Mr.  De  Kay 
straight  in  between  the  eyes,  good-natured  but 
earnest,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he  reaches  out  a 
big  paw  and  slaps  him  folksy  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Well,  Brother,"  says  he,  "  how  about  it!  " 

I  don't  know  how  it  struck  J.  Bayard  Steele, 
but  as  for  me,  right  then  and  there  I  got  wise  to, 
the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  the  ear  tufts  and  low- 
brow manners,  Hunk  Burley,  man  for  man, 
would  measure  up  with  De  Kay  or  anyone  else; 
that  is,  within  his  limits.  For  he'd  found  his 
job.  He  was  there  with  the  goods ! 

The  same  thought  must  have  hit  Cuyler  too. 
Couldn't  help  it.  He  was  lookin'  level  into 
them  steady  eyes,  hearin'  that  husky,  even 
voice,  and  watchin'  that  calm,  rugged  face  that 
had  so  much  strength  behind  it.  A  party  to 


196      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

depend  on,  to  tie  to.  Anyway,  something  of 
the  kind  got  him,  got  him  hard. 

4 '  By  George !  ' '  says  he.  * '  I — I  wish  I 
could!  "  And  with  that  he  gives  Hunk  the 
grip,  quick  and  impulsive. 

Which  was  when  I  developed  this  foolish 
idea.  I  looks  over  to  J.  Bayard  and  grins. 
Then  I  turns  back  to  Cuyler.  ' '  Well,  it  can  be 
fixed,"  says  I. 

"  Eh?  "  says  he.    "  I  beg  pardon?  " 

"  Your  bit  from  Pyramid's  pile,"  says  I. 
"  If  you'll  take  the  chance  of  chucMn'  your 
salary  and  quittin'  the  ranks  of  the  unburied 
dead,  we'll  stake  you  to  enough  so  you  can  buy 
in  with  Hunk.  Won't  we,  Steele?  " 

J.  Bayard  gulps  once  or  twice  and  looks  sort 
of  dazed.  "  If  Mr.  De  Kay  really  wishes  to 
connect  himself  with  such  a  venture,"  says  he, 
"  of  course  I " 

"  I  do,"  breaks  in  Cuyler.  "  And  I  assure 
you,  Gentlemen,  that  I  feel  more  alive  at  this 
moment  than  I  have  for  the  last  twenty  years. 
My  friend  Burley  here  has  done  that.  I  want 
to  go  on  feeling  that  way.  I  am  willing  to  fol- 
low him  anywhere." 

"  Then  it's  a  go,"  says  I.  "  Steele,  write  a 
voucher  and  I'll  O.K.  it." 

"  Good  work!  "  says  Hunk,  givin'  Cuyler  an- 
other bone  crushing  grip.  "  And  remember, 
we  split  fifty-fifty  on  all  the  net.  I'll  close  the 
deal  by  to-morrow  noon,  and  three  weeks  from 
to-day  we  open  in  Savannah." 


A  FIFTY-FIFTY  SPLIT  WITH  HUNK    197 

Half  an  hour  after  they'd  both  gone  J.  Bay- 
ard still  sits  there  gazin'  vague  and  puzzled  at 
the  silver  crook  on  his  walkin'  stick. 

"  Just  fancy!  "  he  mutters.    "  A  circus!  ': 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  I,  "  maybe  it's  better  to  be 
keepin'  step  to  *  Kockin'  the  Boat '  than  drag- 
gin'  your  heels  along  in  the  wake  of  the  un- 
buried  dead." 

One  thing  I'm  sure  of,  Cuyler  wa'n't  in- 
dulgin'  in  any  momentary  fit.  He  meant  busi- 
ness. I  saw  him  last  night,  just  as  he  was 
startin'  for  the  steamer. 

11  How  you  and  Hunk  comin'  onf  "  says  I. 

"  Excellent!  "  says  he.  "  We've  made  some 
compromises,  naturally.  For  instance,  he  is  to 
drive  the  spotted  ponies,  and  I  am  to  wear  an 
ordinary  black  silk  hat  when  I  lead  the  street 
parade." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   FOLLOW   THROUGH   BY  EGGY 

MIGHT  have  been  a  wrong  hunch,  as  it  turned 
out;  but  for  awhile  there  what  I  wanted  to  do 
most  was  to  take  this  Eggleston  K.  Ham,  wad 
him  up  in  a  neat  little  lump,  and  stuff  him  into 
the  waste  basket.  I  wouldn't  have  been  exertin* 
myself  much,  at  that. 

He's  one  of  that  kind,  you  know.  Insignifi- 
cant? Why,  in  full  daylight  you  almost  had 
to  look  twice  to  see  him — and  then  you'd  be 
guessin'  whether  it  was  a  lath  that  had  sprouted 
whiskers,  or  whiskers  that  was  tryin'  to  bud  a 
man !  Them  and  the  thick,  gold- rimmed  glasses 
sure  did  give  him  a  comic,  top-heavy  look. 

Course,  we  get  all  kinds  in  our  buildin';  but 
when  the  lady  voice  culturist  on  the  top  floor 
sublets  her  studio  for  the  summer  to  this  freak 
I  thought  we'd  gone  from  bad  to  worse.  And 
she  even  has  the  nerve  to  leave  the  key  with 
me,  sayin'  Mr.  Ham  would  call  for  it  in  the 
course  of  a  week  or  so. 

We'd  enjoyed  about  ten  days  of  peace  too, 
with  no  bloodcurdlin'  sounds  floatin'  down  the 
light  shaft,  and  I  was  hopin'  maybe  the  sub- 
tenant had  renigged,  when  one  mornin'  the 

198 


HE    SIDLES   UP   TO  THE  DESK   AND   PROCEEDS   TO    MAKE 
SOME  THROATY   NOISES. 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    1991 

front  office  door  opens  easy,  and  in  slips  this 
face  herbage  exhibit.  It's  no  scattered,  hillside 
crop,  either,  but  a  full  blown  Vandyke.  When 
he'd  got  through  growin'  the  alfalfa,  though, 
his  pep  seemed  to  give  out,  and  the  rest  of  him 
was  as  wispy  as  a  schoolgirl. 

He  sidles  up  to  the  desk,  where  I  have  my 
heels  elevated  restful,  and  proceeds  to  make 
some  throaty  noises  behind  his  hand.  I'm  just 
readin'  how  Tesreau  pulled  out  of  a  bad  hole 
in  the  seventh  with  two  on  bases ;  but  I  breaks 
away  long  enough  to  glance  over  the  top  of  the 
paper. 

1 '  Go  on,  shoot  it, ' '  says  I. 

"  I — I'm  very  sorry,"  says  he,  "  but — but  I 
am  Mr.  Ham." 

* '  Never  mind  apologizin ', ' '  says  I.  '  *  Maybe 
it  ain't  all  your  fault.  After  the  key,  ain't 
you?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  says  he. 

"  Eggleston  K.,  I  suppose?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  he. 

"  Here  you  are,  then,  Eggy,"  says  I,  reachin' 
into  a  pigeonhole  and  producin'  it.  "  What's 
your  instrument  of  torture,  the  xylophone?  " 

"  I — I  beg  pardon?  "  says  he. 

"  Come  now,"  says  I,  "  don't  tell  me  you're 
a  trombone  fiend !  ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  says  he.  "  No,  no,  I — I'm  not 
a  musician. ' ' 

"  Shake,  Eggy!  "  says  I,  reachin'  out  my 
hand  impulsive.  "  And  I  don't  care  how 


200      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

cubist  pictures  you  paint  up  there  so  long  as 
you  ain't  noisy  about  it." 

He  fingers  his  soft  hat  nervous,  smiles  sort 
of  embarrassed,  and  remarks,  "  But — but  I'm 
not  an  artist  either,  you  know." 

' '  Well,  well !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Two  misses,  and 
still  in  the  air.  Is  it  anything  you  can  speak 
of  in  public?  " 

11  Why,"  says  he,  "  I — I've  said  very  little 
about  it,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  but — but  I 
am  doing  a  little  research  work  in — in  anthro- 
pology." 

"  Good  night!  "  says  I.  "  Mixin'  things  up 
that's  liable  to  blow  the  roof  off,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  says  he,  starin'  at  me  puzzled. 
"  It's,  merely  studying  racial  characteristics, 
making  comparisons,  and  so  on.  Incidentally, 
I — I'm  writing  a  book,  I  suppose." 

1 1  Oh!  "says  I.  "  Authoring?  Well,  there's 
no  law  against  it,  and  ink  is  cheap.  Go  to  it, 
Eggy!  Top  floor,  first  door  to  your  left." 

And  that  seems  to  be  the  finish  of  the  Ham 
incident.  All  was  peaceful  in  the  light  shaft, — 
no  squeaky  high  C's,  no  tump-tump-tump  on 
the  piano :  just  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  typewriter 
bell  now  and  then  to  remind  us  that  Eggy  was 
still  there.  Once  in  awhile  I'd  pass  him  on  the 
stairs,  and  he'd  nod  bashful  but  friendly  and 
then  scuttle  by  like  a  rabbit. 

"  Must  be  a  hot  book  he's  writinM  "  thinks 
I,  and  forgets  his  existence  until  the  next  time. 

The  summer  moseys  along,  me  bein*  busy 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    201 

with  this  and  that,  goin'  and  coniin'  back,  until 
here  the  other  day  when  things  is  dullest  Pinck- 
ney  calls  up  from  the  club  and  announces  that 
he's  got  a  new  customer  for  me,  someone  very 
special. 

"  Visitin'  royalty,  or  what?  "  says  I. 

"  Winthrop  Hubbard,"  says  he  impressive. 

"  The  guy  that  invented  squash  pie?  "  says  I. 

"  No,  no!  "  peeves  Pinckney.  "  The  son  of 
Joshua  Q.  Hubbard,  you  know." 

"  I  get  you,"  says  I.  "  The  Boston  cotton 
mill  plute  that  come  so  near  bitin'  a  chunk  out 
of  the  new  tariff  bill.  But  I  thought  he  was 
entertainin'  the  French  Ambassador  or  some- 
one at  his  Newport  place?  " 

Well,  he  was;  but  this  is  only  a  flyin'  trip. 
Seems  Son  Winthrop  had  fin  'ly  been  persuaded 
to  begin  his  business  career  by  bein'  made  first 
vice  president  of  the  General  Sales  Company, 
that  handled  the  export  end  of  the  trust's  af- 
fairs. So,  right  in  the  height  of  his  season, 
he's  had  to  scratch  his  Horse  Show  entries, 
drop  polo  practice,  and  move  into  a  measly  six- 
room  suite  in  one  of  them  new  Fifth-ave.  hotels, 
with  three  hours  of  soul-wearin'  officework 
ahead  of  him  five  days  out  of  seven.  He'd  been 
at  the  grind  a  month  now,  and  Mother  had  wor- 
ried so  about  his  health  that  Joshua  Q.  himself 
had  come  down  to  observe  the  awful  results. 
Meanwhile  Josh  had  been  listenin'  to  Pinckney 
boostin'  the  Physical  Culture  Studio  as  the 
great  restorer,  and  he'd  been  about  persuaded 


202      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

that  Son  ought  to  take  on  something  of  the 
kind. 

'  *  But  he  wants  to  see  you  first, ' '  says  Pinck- 
ney.  "  You  understand.  They're  rather  par- 
ticular persons,  the  Hubbards, — fine  old  Plym- 
outh stock,  and  all  that." 

"  Me  too,"  says  I.  "I'm  just  as  fussy  as 
the  next — old  Ellis  Island  stock,  remember." 

' '  Oh,  bother !  ' '  says  Pinckney.  * '  Will  you 
come  up  and  meet  him,  or  won't  you!  ' 

It  wa'n't  reg'lar ;  but  as  long  as  he's  a  friend 
of  Pinckney 's  I  said  I  would. 

And,  say,  Joshua  Q.  looks  the  part,  all  right. 
One  of  these  imposin',  dignified,  well  kept  old 
sports,  with  pink  cheeks,  a  long,  straight  nose, 
and  close-set,  gray-blue  eyes.  They're  the  real 
crusty  stuff,  after  all,  them  Back  Bay  plutes. 
For  one  thing,  most  of  'em  have  been  at  it 
longer.  Take  J.  Q.  Hubbard.  Why,  I  expect 
he  begun  havin'  his  nails  manicured  before  he 
was  ten,  and  has  had  his  own  man  to  lay  out  his 
dinner  clothes  ever  since  he  got  into  long  pants. 

Nothin'  provincial  about  him,  either.  Takes 
his  trip  across  every  winter  reg'lar,  and  I  sup- 
pose he's  as  much  at  home  on  Unter  den  Linden, 
or  the  Place  de  Concord  or  Neva  Prospect  as 
he  is  on  Tremont-st.  And,  sittin'  there  sippin' 
his  hock  and  seltzer,  gazin'  languid  out  on 
Fifth-ave.,  he  gives  kind  of  a  classy  tone  to  one 
of  the  swellest  clubs  in  New  York.  There  ain't 
any  snobbish  frills  to  him,  though.  He  gets 
right  down  to  brass  tacks. 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    203 

"  McCabe,"  says  he,  "  what  class  of  persons 
do  you  have  as  patrons." 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  mostly  Wall  Street  men, 
with  a  sprinklm'  of  afternoon  tea  Johnnies, 
such  as  Pinckney  here." 

14  No  objectionable  persons,  I  trust!  "  says 
he. 

"  Any  roughneck  gets  the  quick  dump," 
says  I. 

' '  Ah,  I  think  I  catch  your  meaning, ' '  says  he, 
"  and  I've  no  doubt  your  establishment  can 
supply  precisely  what  my  son  needs  in  the  way 
of  exercise.  I  suppose,  however,  I'd  best  see 
for  myself.  May  we  go  now?  " 

"  Sure,"  says  I.  "No  special  visitin' 
days. ' ' 

"  Then  I'll  'phone  Winthrop  to  meet  us 
there,"  says  he. 

Seems  he  couldn't  get  Son  direct;  but  he 
leaves  word  at  his  office,  and  then  off  we  goes 
in  Pinckney 's  limousine  de  luxe.  It  ain't  often 
I  worry  any  about  the  outside  looks  of  things  at 
the  joint;  but  somehow,  with  this  elegant  old 
party  comin'  to  inspect,  I  was  kind  of  hopin' 
the  stairs  had  been  swept  and  that  Swifty  Joe 
wouldn't  have  any  of  his  Red  Hook  friends 
callin'  on  him. 

So  I  most  gasps  when  we  piles  out  in  front 
of  the  studio  and  finds  a  mob  that  extends  from 
the  curb  to  the  front  door.  Not  only  that,  but 
the  lower  hall  is  crowded,  and  they  line 
the  stairs  halfway  up.  And  such  a  bunch! 


204      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Waps,    Dagoes,    Matzers,    Syrians,    all   varie- 
ties. 

"By  Jove,  though!"  says  Pinckney. 
"  What's  all  this?" 

"  Looks  like  someone  was  openin'  a  sweat- 
shop in  the  buildin',  don't  it?  "  says  I.  "If 
that's  so,  here's  where  I  break  my  lease." 

"  Really,"  says  Mr.  Hubbard,  eyiq'  the 
crowd  doubtful,  "  I  hardly  believe  I  care 
to " 

"  Ah,  I'll  clear  'em  out  in  two  shakes,"  says 
I.  "  Just  follow  after  me.  Hey,  you!  Heim 
gagen.  Mushong!  Gangway,  gangway!  " 
and  I  motions  threatenin'.  "  Ah,  beat  it,  you 
garlic  destroyers!  "  I  sings  out.  "  Back  up 
there,  and  take  your  feet  with  you !  Back,  you 
fatheads!  "  and  I  sends  one  caromin'  to  the 
right  and  another  spinnin'  to  the  left. 

The  best  I  could  do,  though,  was  to  open  a 
three-foot  lane  through  'em,  and  there  they 
stuck,  lined  up  on  either  side  like  they  was 
waitin'  for  a  parade.  It  was  something  like 
that  too, — me  leadin'  the  way,  Pinckney  steerin' 
J.  Q.  by  the  arm.  We'd  got  inside  the  doorway 
without  a  word  bein'  said,  when  a  bright-eyed 
Dago  girl  with  a  rainbow-tinted  handkerchief 
about  her  neck  breaks  the  spell. 

"  Picture,    Meester — take-a    da    picture?  ' 
says  she  pleadin'.    With  that  the  others  breaks 
loose.    "  Picture,  Meester!    Please-a,  Meester? 
Picture,  picture!  "    They  says  it  in  all  sorts  of 
dialects,  with  all  sorts  of  variations,  all  beggin' 


A  FOLLOW  THEOUGH  BY  EGGY    205 

for  the  same  thing.  "  Picture,  picture!  ': 
They  reaches  out,  grabbin'  at  our  coat  sleeves. 
Three  of  'em  had  hold  of  J.  Q.  at  once  when  I 
whirls  on  'em. 

"Ah,  ditch  the  chorus!"  I  yells  at  'em. 
"  What  do  you  think  this  is,  anyway,  a  movie 
outfit?  Get  back  there!  Hands  off,  or  I  call 
the  cops!  " 

It's  strenuous  work;  but  I  manages  to  quiet 
'em  long  enough  for  Pinckney  and  Mr. 
Hubbard  to  get  through  and  slip  up  to  the 
studio.  Then  I  tries  to  shoo  the  bunch  into 
the  street;  but  they  don't  shoo  for  a  cent. 
They  still  demands  to  have  their  pictures 
taken. 

"  Say,  you  Carlotta,  there!  "  says  I,  singlin' 
out  the  Dago  girl.  "  Who  gave  you  this  nutty 
picture  hunch?  " 

"  Why,  Meester  Hama,"  says  she.  "  Nice-a 
man,  Meester  Hama." 

''Is  he?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  you  wait  here 
until  I  see  him  about  this.  Wait — under- 
stand? "  With  that  I  skips  upstairs,  and  ex- 
plains the  mystery  of  our  bein'  mobbed.  "  It's 
a  whiskered  freak  on  the  top  floor  they're 
after,"  says  I.  "  Swifty,  run  up  and  get  that 
Ham  and  Eggs  gent.  I'm  yearnin'  for  speech 
with  him.  I  don't  know  what  this  is  all  about; 
but  I'll  soon  see,  and  block  any  encores." 

"  Quite  right,"  says  Mr.  Hubbard.  "  This  is 
all  extremely  annoying.  Such  a  rabble !  ' : 

"Positively    disgusting!"    adds    Pinckney. 


206      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

1 1  A  crowd  of  smelly  foreigners !  Shorty,  you 
should  put  a  stop  to  this." 

1 1  Trust  me, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Ah,  here  we  have  the 
guilty  party!  "  and  in  comes  Swifty  towin' 
Eggleston  K.  by -the  collar.  No  wonder  Eggy 
is  some  agitated,  after  bein'  hauled  down  two 
flights  in  that  fashion! 

"  Well,"  says  I,  as  Swifty  stands  him  up  in 
front  of  us.  "  Who  are  your  outside  friends, 
and  why?  " 

"  My — my  friends?  "  says  he.  "  I — I  don't 
understand.  And  I  must  protest,  you  know, 
against  this  manner  of " 

"  Gwan!  "  says  I.  "I'm  doin'  all  the  pro- 
testin'  here.  And  I  want  to  know  what  you 
mean  by  collectin'  such  a  crowd  of  steerage 
junk  that  my  customers  can't  get  in  without 
bein'  mobbed?  Howled  for  us  to  take  their 
pictures,  and  mentioned  your  name." 

"  Oh!  Pictures!  "  and  Eggy  seems  to  get 
the  key.  "  Why,  I— I'd  forgotten." 

"  Can  you  beat  that?  "  says  L  "He'd  for- 
gotten! Well,  they  hadn't.  But  what's  the 
idea,  anyway?  Collectin'  fam'ly  portraits  of 
prominent  gunmen,  or  what?  ' 

"  It — it's  my  way  of  getting  material  for  my 
work,"  says  Eggleston.  "  You  see,  through 
some  friends  in  a  settlement  house,  I  get  to 
know  these  people.  I  take  snapshots  of  them 
for  nothing.  They  like  to  send  the  pictures 
back  home,  you  know,  and  I  can  use  some  of 
them  myself." 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    207 

"  In  the  book?  "  says  I. 

"  Perhaps,"  says  Eggy,  blushin'.  "  I  had 
promised  a  few  of  them  to  take  some  studio 
pictures  if  they  would  come  up  to-day." 

"  And  they  didn't  do  a  thing  but  bring  all 
their  friends,"  says  I.  "  Must  be  fifty  of  them 
down  there.  You'll  have  a  thick  book  before 
you  get  through." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  puts  in  Mr.  Hubbard, 
leanin'  forward  int 'rested,  "  but  may  I  ask  the 
nature  of  the  book1?  " 

"  It — it's  to  be  about  our  foreign-born  citi- 
zens," says  Eggy. 

"  Ah,  I  see!  "  says  J.  Q.  "  Pointing  out  the 
evils  of  unrestricted  immigration,  I  presume?  ' 

"  Well — er — not  exactly,"  says  Eggy. 

"  Then  I  should  advise  you  to  make  it  so," 
says  Mr.  Hubbard.  "  In  fact,  if  the  subject 
were  well  handled,  and  the  case  put  strongly 
enough  to  meet  my  views,  I  think  I  could  assure 
its  immediate  publication." 

"  Oh,  would  you?  '  says  Eggleston,  real 
eager.  "  But — but  what  are  your  views  as  to 
our  treatment  of  aliens?  " 

"  My  programme  is  quite  simple,"  says  Mr. 
Hubbard.  "  I  would  stop  all  immigration  at 
once,  absolutely.  Then  I  would  deport  all  per- 
sons of  foreign  birth  who  had  not  become  citi- 
zens." 

Eggy  gasped.  "  But — but  that  would  be  un- 
just! '•  says  he.  "  Why,  it  would  be  mon- 
strous !  Surely,  you  are  not  in  earnest  ?  ' ' 


208      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Mr.  Hubbard's  eyelids  narrow,  his  jaw  stif- 
fens, and  he  emphasizes  each  word  by  tappin' 
his  knee.  "I'd  like  to  see  it  done  to-morrow," 
says  he.  "  Check  this  flood  of  immigration, 
and  you  solve  half  of  our  economic  and  indus- 
trial problems.  Too  long  we  have  allowed 
this  country  to  be  a  general  dumping  ground 
for  the  scum  of  Europe.  Everyone  admits 
that." 

"  If  you  please,"  says  Eggy,  runnin'  his 
fingers  through  his  beard  nervous,  "  I  could 
not  agree  to  that.  On  the  contrary,  my  theory 
is  that  we  owe  a  great  deal  of  our  progress  and 
our  success  to  the  foreign  born." 

"  Oh,  indeed!  "  remarks  Mr.  Hubbard,  cold 
and  sharp.  "  And  you  mean  to  try  to  prove 
that  in  your  book?  " 

11  Something  like  that,"  admits  Eggy. 

"  Then,  Sir,"  goes  on  J.  Q.,  "  I  must  tell  you 
that  I  consider  you  a  most  mischievous,  if  not 
dangerous  person,  and  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  dis- 
courage such  misdirected  enterprise.  Aren't 
you  an  instructor  in  economics  under  Professor 
Hartnett?  "  ^ 

Eggy  pleads  guilty. 

"  I  thought  I  recognized  the  name,"  says 
J.  Q.  "  Well,  Mr.  Ham,  I  am  Joshua  Q.  Hub- 
bard,  and,  as  you  may  know,  I  happen  to  be  one 
of  the  governing  board  of  that  college;  so  I 
warn  you  now,  if  you  insist  on  publishing  such 
a  book  as  you  have  suggested,  you  may  expect 
consequences." 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    209 

For  a  minute  that  seems  to  stun  Eggleston. 
He  stares  at  Mr.  Hubbard,  blinkin'  his  eyes 
rapid  and  swallowin'  hard.  Then  he  appears 
to  recover.  "  But — but  are  you  not  somewhat 
prejudiced?  "  says  he.  "I  think  I  could  show 
you,  Sir,  that  these  poor  aliens >: 

"  Mr.  Ham,"  says  J.  Q.  decided,  "  I  know 
exactly  what  I  am  talking  about ;  not  from  hear- 
say, but  from  actual  experience.  Hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars  these  wretched  foreigners 
have  cost  me  within  the  last  few  years.  Why, 
that  last  big  strike  cut  dividends  almost  in 
half!  And  who  causes  all  the  strikes,  is  at  the 
bottom  of  all  labor  disturbances?  The  foreign 
element.  If  I  had  my  way,  I'd  call  out  the 
regular  army  and  drive  every  last  one  of  them 
into  the  sea." 

You'd  most  thought  that  would  have 
squelched  Eggy.  I  was  lookin'  for  him  to  back 
through  the  door  on  his  hands  and  knees.  But 
all  he  does  is  stand  there  lookin'  J.  Q.  Hubbard 
square  in  the  eye  and  smilin'  quiet. 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  sentiments  like  that  be- 
fore," says  he.  ''I  presume,  Mr.  Hubbard, 
that  you  know  many  of  your  mill  operatives 
personally?  ' 

"  No,"  says  J.  Q.,  "  and  I  have  no  desire  to. 
I  haven't  been  inside  one  of  our  mills  in  fifteen 
years." 

"  I  see,"  says  Eggy.  "  You  keep  in  touch 
with  your  employees  through — er — your  bank- 
book? But  is  it  fair  to  judge  them  as  men  and 


210      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

women  wholly  on  their  ability  to  produce  divi- 
dends for  you?  ' 

"As  an  employer  of  labor,  what  other  test 
would  you  have  me  apply?  "  says  J.  Q. 

"  Then  you  are  classing  them  with  ma- 
chines," says  Eggy. 

"  No,"  says  Mr.  Hubbard.  "  I  can  depend 
upon  my  looms  not  to  go  on  strike." 

"  But  you  own  your  looms,"  says  Eggleston. 
"  Your  loom  tenders  are  human  beings." 

"  When  they  mob  strike  breakers  they  be- 
have more  like  wild  animals,  and  then  you've 
got  to  treat  'em  as  such,"  raps  back  J.  Q. 

' '  Are  you  quite  certain  that  the  standards  of 
humanity  you  set  up  are  just?  "  asks  Eggy. 
"  You  know  people  are  beginning  to  question 
your  absolute  right  to  fix  arbitrarily  the  hours 
and  wages  and  conditions  of  labor.  They  are 
suggesting  that  your  mills  produce  tubercu- 
losis as  well  as  cloth.  They  are  showing  that, 
in  your  eagerness  for  dividends,  you  work 
women  and  children  too  long,  and  that  you 
don't  pay  them  a  living  wage." 

"  Eot!  "  snorts  J.  Q.  "  These  are  all  the 
mushy  theories  of  sentimentalists.  What  else 
are  these  foreigners  good  for?  ' 

1 1  Ah,  there  you  get  to  it !  "  says  Eggy. 
"  Aren't  they  too  valuable  to  be  ground  up  in 
your  dusty  mills?  Can  they  not  be  made  into 
useful  citizens?  " 

"  No,  they  can't,"  snaps  Mr.  Hubbard. 
"  It's  been  tried  too  often.  Look  at  the  results. 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    211 

Who  fill  our  jails?  Foreigners!  Who  swarm 
in  our  filthy  city  slums  ?  Foreigners !  They  are 
the  curse  of  this  country.  Look  at  the  wretched 
mob  you  have  brought  about  your  heels  to-day, 
those  outside  there.  There's  a  sample." 

"  If  you  only  would  look  and  understand!  " 
says  Eggleston.  "  Won't  you — now?  It  will 
take  only  a  little  of  your  time,  and  I'll  promise 
to  keep  them  in  order.  Oh,  if  you'd  only  let 
me!  " 

"  Let  you  what?  "  demands  J.  Q.,  starin' 
puzzled. 

"  Introduce  a  few  of  them  to  you  properly," 
says  Eggy;  "  only  four  or  five.  Come,  a  hand- 
ful of  simple-minded  peasants  can't  hurt  you. 
They're  poor,  and  ignorant,  and  not  especially 
clean,  I'll  admit;  but  I'll  keep  them  at  a  proper 
distance.  You  see,  I  want  to  show  you  some- 
thing about  them.  Of  course,  you're  afraid 
you'll  lose  your  cherished  prejudices " 

11  I'm  afraid  of  nothing  of  the  sort,"  breaks 
in  Mr.  Hubbard.  "  Go  on.  Have  'em  up,  if 
McCabe  is  willing." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.   "  Bring  that  mob  up  here?  " 

"  Just  a  few,"  pleads  Eggy,  "  and  for  ten 
minutes  only." 

"  It  might  be  sport,"  suggests  Pinckney. 

"I'll  take  a  chance,"  says  I.  "  We  can  dis- 
infect afterwards." 

Eggy  dashes  off,  and  after  a  lively  jabberin' 
below  comes  back  with  his  selected  specimens. 
Not  a  one  looks  as  though  he'd  been  over 


212      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

more'n  a  year,  and  some  are  still  wearin'  the 
outlandish  rigs  they  landed  in.  Then  Eggy 
begins  introducin'  'em.  And,  say,  you'd 
hardly  know  him  for  the  same  bashful,  wispy 
party  that  Swifty  had  dragged  in  a  little  while 
before.  Honest,  as  he  warms  to  it,  he  sort  of 
swells  up  and  straightens,  he  squares  his  shoul- 
ders, his  voice  rings  out  confident,  and  his  eyes 
behind  the  thick  glasses  are  all  aglow. 

"We  will  dispense  with  names,"  says  he; 
"  but  here  is  a  native  of  Sicily.  He  is  about 
thirty-five  years  old,  and  he  worked  in  the  salt 
mines  for  something  like  twelve  cents  a  day 
from  the  time  he  was  ten  until  he  came  over 
here  under  contract  to  a  padrone  a  few  months 
ago.  So  you  see  his  possibilities  for  mental 
development  have  been  limited.  But  his 
muscles  have  been  put  to  use  in  helping  dig  a 
new  subway  for  us.  We  hope,  however,  that  in 
the  future  his  latent  talents  may  be  brought  out. 
That  being  the  case,  he  is  possibly  the  grand- 
father of  the  man  who  in  1965  will  write  for  us 
an  American  opera  better  than  anything  ever 
produced  by  Verdi.  Why  not?  ' 

We  gawps  at  the  grandfather  of  the  musical 
genius  of  1965  and  grins.  He's  a  short, 
squatty,  low-browed  party  with  gold  rings  in 
his  ears  and  a  smallpox-pitted  face.  He  gazes 
doubtful  at  Eggleston  durin'  the  talk,  and  at 
the  finish  grins  back  at  us.  Likely  he  thought 
Eggy'd  been  makin'  a  comic  speech. 

"  An  ingenious  prophecy,"  says  Mr.  Hub- 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    213 

bard;  "  but  unfortunately  all  Italians  are  not 
Verdis." 

"  Few  have  the  chance  to  be,"  says  Eggy. 
* '  That  is  what  America  should  mean  to  them, — 
opportunity.  We  shall  benefit  by  giving  it  to 
them  too.  Look  at  our  famous  bands:  at  least 
one-third  Italians.  Why,  nine-tenths  of  the 
music  that  delights  us  is  made  for  us  by  the 
foreign  born!  Would  you  drive  all  those  into 
the  sea?  " 

"  Absurd!  "  says  Mr.  Hubbard.  "  I  referred 
only  to  the  lower  classes,  of  course.  But  let's 
get  on.  What  next?  " 

Eggy  looks  over  the  line,  picks  out  a  square- 
jawed,  bull-headed,  pie-faced  Yon  Yonson,  with 
stupid,  stary,  skim-milk  eyes,  and  leads  him  to 
the  front.  "  A  direct  descendant  of  the  old 
Vikings,"  says  he,  "  a  fellow  countryman  of 
the  heroic  Stefansson,  of  Amundsen.  Just  now 
he  works  as  a  longshoreman.  But  give  him  a 
fair  chance,  and  his  son's  son  will  turn  out  to 
be  the  first  Admiral  of  the  Federal  Fleet  of 
Commerce  that  is  to  be, — a  fleet  of  swift  gov- 
ernment freighters  that  shall  knit  closely  to- 
gether our  ports  with  all  the  ports  of  the  Seven 
Seas.  Gentlemen,  I  present  to  you  the  an- 
cestor of  an  Admiral!  " 

Pinckney  chuckles  and  nudges  Mr.  Hubbard. 
Yonson  bats  his  stupid  eyes  once  or  twice,  and 
lets  himself  be  pushed  back. 

"  Go  on,"  says  J.  Q.,  scowlin'.  "  I  suppose 
you'll  produce  next  the  grandfather  of  a  genius 


214      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

•who  will  head  the  National  Pie  Bureau  of  the 
next  century?  " 

"  Not  precisely,"  says  Eggy,  beckonin'  up  a 
black-haired,  brown-eyed  Polish  Jewess.  "  A 
potential  grandmother  this  time.  She  helps  an 
aunt  who  conducts  a  little  kosher  delicatessen 
shop  in  a  Hester-st.  basement.  Her  grand- 
daughter is  to  organize  the  movement  for  com- 
munal dietetics,  by  means  of  which  our  chil- 
dren's children  are  all  to  be  fed  on  properly 
cooked  food,  scientifically  prepared,  £nd  de- 
livered hot  at  a  nominal  price.  She  will  banish 
dyspepsia  from  the  land,  make  obsolete  the 
household  drudge,  and  eliminate  the  antique 
kitchen  from  twenty  million  homes.  Perhaps 
they  will  put  up  a  statue  in  her  memory. ' ' 

"  Humph!  "  snorts  Mr.  Hubbard.  "  Is  that 
one  of  H.  G.  Wells'  silly  dreams'?  " 

"  You  flatter  me,"  says  Eggy;  "  but  you  give 
me  courage  to  venture  still  further.  Now  we 
come  to  the  Slav."  He  calls  up  a  thin,  peak- 
nosed,  wild-eyed  gink  who's  wearin'  a  greasy 
waiter's  coat  and  a  coffee-stained  white  shirt. 
"  From  a  forty-cent  table  d'hote  restaurant," 
goes  on  Eggleston.  "  An  alert,  quick-moving, 
deft-handed  person — valuable  qualities,  you  will 
admit.  Develop  those  in  his  grandson,  give  him 
the  training  of  a  National  Academy  of  Technical 
Arts,  bring  out  the  repressed  courage  and  self- 
confidence,  and  you  will  produce — well,  let  us 
say,  the  Chief  Pilot  of  the  Aero  Transportation 
Department,  the  man  to  whom  Congress  will 


A  FOLLOW  THROUGH  BY  EGGY    215 

vote  an  honorary  pension  for  winning  the  first 
"Washington-to-Buenos  Ayres  race  in  a  three- 
hundred-foot  Lippmann  Stabilized  quadro- 
plane,  carrying  fifty  passengers  and  two  tons  of 
mail  and  baggage. ' ' 

Mr.  Hubbard  gazes  squint-eyed  at  the  waiter 
and  sniffs. 

"  Come,  now,  who  knows?  "  insists  Eggy. 
"  These  humble  people  whom  you  so  despise 
need  only  an  opportunity.  Can  we  afford  to 
shut  them  out?  Don't  we  need  them  as  much 
as  they  need  us?  " 

"  Mr.  Ham,"  says  J.  Q.,  shuttin'  his  jaws 
grim,  "  my  motto  is,  *  America  for  Ameri- 
cans! '  ' 

"  And  mine,"  says  Eggy,  facin'  him  defiant, 
"is  *  Americans  for  America !  '  " 

"  You're  a  scatterbrained  visionary!  "  snaps 
J.  Q.  "  You  and  your  potential  grandfather 
rubbish!  What  about  the  grandsons  of  good 
Americans?  Do  you* not  reckon  them  in  at  all 
in  your " 

"  Whe-e-e-e !  Whoop !  "  comes  from  the  hall, 
the  front  office  door  is  kicked  open  joyous,  and 
in  comes  a  tall,  light-haired,  blue-eyed  young 
gent,  with  his  face  well  pinked  up  and  his  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head.  He's  arm  in  arm  with 
a  shrimpy,  Frenchy  lookin'  party  wearin'  a 
silk  lid  and  a  frock  coat.  They  pushes  unsteady 
through  Eggy's  illustrious  ancestor  bunch  and 
comes  to  parade  rest  in  the  center  of  the  stage. 

"  Winthrop!  "  gasps  Mr.  Hubbard. 


216      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 


4   i 


Eh?  "  gasps  the  young  gent,  starin'  round 
uncertain  until  he  locates  J.  Q.  Then  he  makes 
a  stab  at  straightenin'  up.  "  'S  a'  right,  Gov- 
ernor," he  goes  on,  "  's  a'  right.  Been  givin' 
lil'  lu-luncheon  to  for'n  rep'sen'tives.  Put  'em 
all  out  but  An-Andorvski,  and  he's  nothing  but 
a  fish — deuced  Russian  fish.  Eh,  Droski?  ' 

Believe  me,  with  J.  Q.  Hubbard  turnin'  pur- 
ple in  the  gills,  and  all  them  cheap  foreigners 
lookin'  on  bug-eyed,  it  wa'n't  any  humorous 
scene.  With  the  help  of  the  waiter  and  the 
longshoreman  they  loads  Winthrop  and  his 
friend  into  a  taxi,  and  Pinckney  starts  with 
'em  for  the  nearest  Turkish  bath.  The  grand- 
father debate  is  adjourned  for  good. 

I  was  talkin'  it  over  with  Swifty  Joe,  who, 
havin'  been  born  in  County  Kerry  and  brought 
up  in  South  Brooklyn,  is  sore  on  foreigners  of 
all  kinds.  Course,  he  sides  hearty  with  Mr. 
Hubbard. 

' '  Ahr-r-r-chee !  "  says  he.  "That  Ham- 
and  boob,  stickin'  up  for  the  Waps  and  Guineas, 
he — he's  a  nut,  a  last  year's  nut!  " 

"  Hardly  that,  Swifty,"  says  I.  "  A  next 
year's  nut,  I  should  say." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CATCHING   UP   WITH   GERALD 

"  IT  seemed  so  absurdly  simple  at  first  too,'* 
says  J.  Bayard  Steele,  tappin'  one  of  his  pearl- 
gray  spats  with  his  walkin '  stick.  *  *  But  now — 
well,  the  more  I  see  of  this  Gerald  Webb,  the 
less  I  understand." 

"  Then  you're  comin'  on,"  says  I.  "  In  time 
you'll  get  wise  to  the  fact  that  everybody's  that 
way, — n6  two  alike  and  every  last  one  of  us 
neither  all  this  nor  all  that,  but  constructed 
complicated,  with  a  surprise  package  done  up 
in  each  one." 

* '  Ah  I  Some  of  your  homespun  philosophy, 
eh?  "  says  J.  Bayard.  "  Interesting  perhaps,, 
but  inaccurate — quite !  The  fellow  is  not  at  all 
difficult  to  read:  it's  what  we  ought  to  do  for 
him  that  is  puzzling. ' ' 

Which  gives  you  a  line,  I  expect,  on  this  little 
debate  of  ours.  Yep !  Gerald  is  No.  8  on  Pyra- 
mid Gordon's  list.  He'd  been  a  private  secre- 
tary for  Mr.  Gordon  at  one  time  or  another; 
but  he'd  been  handed  his  passports  kind  of 
abrupt  one  mornin',  and  had  been  set  adrift  in 
a  cold  world  without  warnin'. 

"  In  fact,"  goes  on  S^eele,  "  I  am  told  that 

217 


218      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Gordon  actually  kicked  him  out  of  his  office ;  in 
rather  a  public  manner  too." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "I  expect  he  deserved  it, 
then." 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  Steele.  "  I've  looked  that 
point  up.  It  was  over  a  letter  which  Gordon 
himself  had  dictated  to  Webb  not  forty-eight 
hours  before ;  you  know,  one  of  his  hot-headed, 
arrogant,  go-to-blazes  retorts,  during  the  thick 
of  a  fight.  But  this  happened  to  be  in  reply  to 
an  ultimatum  from  the  Eeamur-Brooks  Syndi- 
cate, and  by  next  morning  he  'd  discovered  that 
he  was  in  no  position  to  talk  that  way  to  them. 
Well,  as  you  know,  Pyramid  Gordon  wasn't 
the  man  to  eat  his  own  words." 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  that  wa'n't  his  fav'rite  diet. 
So  he  made  Gerald  the  goat,  eh?  ' 

"  Precisely!  "  says  Steele.  "  Called  him  in 
before  the  indignant  delegation,  headed  by  old 
Eeamur  himself,  and  demanded  of  poor  Webb 
what  he  meant  by  sending  out  such  a  letter. 
The  youngster  was  so  flustered  that  he  could 
only  stammer  a  confused  denial.  He  started 
sniveling.  Then  Gordon  collared  him  and 
booted  him  into  the  corridor.  That  should  have 
closed  the  incident,  but  a  few  moments  later 
back  comes  Webb,  blubbering  like  a  whipped 
schoolboy,  and  perfectly  wild  with  rage.  He 
was  armed  with  a  mop  that  he'd  snatched  from 
an  astonished  scrubwoman,  and  he  stormed  in 
whimpering  that  he  was  going  to  kill  Gordon. 
Absurd,  of  course.  A  mop  isn't  a  deadly 


CATCHING  UP  WITH  GERALD  219 

weapon.  Some  of  the  clerks  promptly  rushed 
in  and  held  Webb  until  an  officer  could  be  called. 
Then  Pyramid  laughed  it  off  and  refused  to 
prosecute.  But  the  story  got  into  the  papers, 
you  may  remember ;  and  while  more  or  less  fun 
was  poked  at  Gordon,  young  Webb  came  in  for 
a  good  share.  And  naturally  his  career  as 
a  private  secretary  ended  right  there. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  says  I.  "  If  I  was  takin'  on  a  secre- 
tary myself,  I  wouldn't  pick  one  that  was  sub- 
ject to  fits  of  mop  wieldin'.  What  happened  to 
him  after  that?  How  low  did  he  fall?  " 

J.  Bayard  tosses  over  a  fancy  business  card 
printed  in  three  colors  and  carryin'  this  in- 
scription in  old  English  letterin': 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  BRASS  CANDLESTICK 

Tea  Room  and  Gift  Shop 
Mr.  Gerald  Webb,  Manager. 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  I,  "  that  ain't  so  bad. 
Must  have  run  across  a  backer  somewhere." 

"  His  sisters,"  says  Steele.  "  He  has  five, 
and  some  of  the  four  married  ones  are  quite 
well  to  do.  Then  there  is  Evelyn,  the  old  maid 
sister,  who  went  in  with  him.  It's  from  her 
I've  found  out  so  much  about  Gerald.  Nice, 
refined,  pleasant  old  maid;  although  somewhat 
plain  featured.  She  tells  me  they  have  a  shop 
at  some  seashore  resort  in  summer, — Atlantic 
City,  or  the  Pier, — and  occasionally  have  quite 
a  successful  season.  Then  in  the  fall  they  open 
up  again  here.  The  last  two  summers,  though, 


they've  barely  made  expenses,  and  she  fears 
that  Gerald  is  becoming  discouraged." 

"  Well,  what  you  beefin'  about?  "  says  I. 
"  There's  your  chance,  ain't  it?  Jump  in  and 
cheer  him  up.  Go  round  every  day  and  drink 
yourself  full  of  tea.  Lug  along  your  friends 
— anything.  Got  the  whole  Gordon  estate  back 
of  you,  you  know.  And  it's  plain  Pyramid  had 
in  mind  squarin'  accounts  for  that  raw  deal 
he  handed  Gerald  years  back,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  named  him  in  the  will.  And  if  your  dope 
is  right,  I  judge  there  ought  to  be  something 
nice  comin'  to  him." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  says  Steele.  "  But 
you  see,  McCabe,  as  an  expert  in  altruism,  I 
have  reached  the  point  where  I  no  longer  act 
hastily  on  crude  conclusions.  Possibly  you  will 
fail  to  understand,  but  now  I  take  a  certain 
pride  in  doing  just  the  right  thing  in  exactly 
the  right  way. ' ' 

"  I  knew  you  was  developin'  into  some  va- 
riety of  nut,"  says  I.  ''So  that's  it,  eh?  Well, 
go  on." 

J.  Bayard  smiles  indulgent  and  shrugs  his 
shoulders.  "  For  instance,"  says  he,  "  this 
Gerald  Webb  seems  to  be  one  of  those  highly 
sensitive,  delicately  organized  persons;  some- 
what effeminate  in  fact.  He  needs  considerate, 
judicious  handling." 

"  Then  why  not  present  him  with  an  inlaid 
dressin'  table  and  a  set  of  eyebrow  pencils?  "  I 
suggest. 


CATCHING  UP  WITH  GEKALD  221 

Steele  brushes  that  little  persiflage  aside  too. 
"  He's  no  doubt  an  idealist  of  some  sort,"  says 
he,  "  a  man  with  high  hopes,  ambitions.  If  I 
only  knew  what  they  were " 

"  Ain't  tried  askin'  him,  have  you?  "  says  L 

"  Certainly  not!  "  says  J.  Bayard.  "  Those 
are  things  which  such  persons  can  rarely  be  in- 
duced to  talk  about.  I've  been  studying  him  at 
close  range,  however,  by  dropping  in  now  and 
then  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  incidentally  a  chat 
with  his  sister;  but  to  no  effect.  I  can't  seem 
to  make  him  out.  And  I  was  wondering, 
Shorty,  if  you,  in  your  rough  and  ready 
way " 

"P.O.F.!  "I  breaks  in. 

"  What?  "  says  Steele. 

"  Please  omit  floral  tributes,"  says  I.  "  You 
was  wonderin'  if  I  couldn't  what — size  him  up 
for  you?  " 

"  Just  that,"  says  J.  Bayard.  "  While  your 
methods  are  not  always  of  the  subtlest,  I  must 
concede  that  at  times  your — er — native  intui- 
tion  " 

"  Top  floor— all  out!  "  I  breaks  in.  "  You 
mean  I  can  do  a  quick  frame-up  without  feelin' 
the  party's  bumps  or  consultin'  the  cards? 
Maybe  I  can.  But  I  ain't  strong  for  moochin' 
around  these  oolong  joints  among  the  draped 
tunics  and  vanity  boxes." 

He's  a  persistent  party,  though,  J.  Bayard 
is,  and  after  he's  guaranteed  that  we  won't  run 
into  any  mob  of  shoppers  this  late  in  the  day, 


222      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

and  urged  me  real  hard,  I  consents  to  trail 
along  with  him  and  pass  on  Gerald. 

One  of  the  usual  teashop  joints,  the  Brass 
Candlestick  is,  tucked  away  in  a  dwelling  house 
basement  on  a  side  street  about  half  a  block 
east  of  Fifth  avenue,  with  a  freaky  sign  over 
the  door  and  a  pair  of  moultin'  bay  trees  at  the" 
entrance.  Inside  we  finds  a  collection  of  little 
white  tables  with  chairs  to  match,  a  showcase 
full  of  arty  jew'lry,  and  some  shelves  loaded 
with  a  job  lot  of  odd-shaped  vases  and  jugs  and 
teapots  and  such  truck. 

A  tall,  loppy  female  with  mustard-colored 
hair  and  haughty  manners  tows  us  to  a  place 
in  a  dark  corner  and  shoves  a  menu  at  us.  You 
know  the  tearoom  brand  of  waitress  maybe, 
and  how  distant  they  can  be?  But  this  one 
fairly  sneers  at  us  as  she  takes  our  order;  al- 
though I  kind  of  shrivels  up  in  the  chair  and 
acts  as  humble  as  I  know  how. 

11  That  ain't  Sister  Evelyn,  is  it?  "  says  I, 
as  she  disappears  towards  the  back. 

"  No,  no,"  says  Steele.  "  Miss  Webb  is  at 
the  little  cashier 's  desk,  by  the  door.  And  that 
is  Webb,  behind  the  counter,  talking  to  those 
ladies." 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.  "  Him  with  the  pale  hair 
and  the  narrow  mouth?  Huh!  He  is  Lizzie- 
like,  ain't  he?  " 

He's  a  slim,  thin-blooded,  sharp-faced  gent, 
well  along  in  the  thirties,  I  should  judge,  with 
gray  showin'  in  his  forelock,  and  a  dear  little 


CATCHING  UP  WITH  GERALD     223 

mustache  pointed  at  the  ends;  the  sort  of 
chappy  who  wears  a  braid-bound  cutaway  and  a 
wrist  watch,  you  know.  He's  temptin'  his  cus- 
tomers with  silver-set  turquoise  necklaces,  and 
abalone  cuff  links,  and  moonstone  sets,  and 
such;  doin'  it  dainty  and  airy,  and  incidentally 
displayin'  a  job  of  manicurin'  that's  the  last 
word  in  fingernail  decoration.  Such  smooth, 
highbrow  conversation  goes  with  it  too! 

"  Oh,  yes,  Madam,"  I  overhears  him  gurgle. 
"  Quite  so,  I  assuah  you.  We  import  these 
direct  from  Cairo ;  genuine  scarabs,  taken  from 
ancient  mummy  cases.  No,  not  Eameses ;  these 
are  of  the  Thetos  period.  Bather  rare,  you 
know.  And  here  is  an  odd  trifle,  if  you  will  per- 
mit me.  Oh,  no  trouble  at  all.  Really!  When 
we  find  persons  of  such  discriminating  taste  as 
you  undoubtedly  have  we " 

"  Say,"  I  remarks  low  to  Steele,  "  he's  some 
swell  kidder,  ain't  he?  He'll  be  chuckin'  her 
under  the  chin  next.  What  a  sweet  thing  he  is ! 
It's  a  shame  to  waste  all  that  on  a  side  street 
too.  He  ought  to  be  farther  up  in  the  shoppin' 
district  and  on  the  avenue." 

"  Do  you  think  so!  "  says  J.  Bayard.  "  I've 
been  considering  that — setting  him  up  in  first- 
class  style  on  a  big  scale.  But  of  course  I 
should  like  to  be  sure  that  is  what  he  wants 
most." 

"  That's  my  best  guess,"  says  I.  "  I'll 
bet  he'd  eat  it  up.  Spring  it  on  him  and 
see." 


224      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Perhaps  I  will  when  he's  through,"  says  J. 
Bayard.  "  There!  They're  going  now." 

He  was  wrong:  they  was  only  startin'  to  go. 
They  had  to  come  back  twice  and  look  at  some- 
thing all  over  again,  after  which  Gerald  fol- 
lows 'em  to  the  door  and  holds  it  open  for  'em 
while  they  exchange  a  few  last  words.  So  it's 
ten  minntes  or  more  before  Steele  has  a  chance 
to  call  him  over,  get  him  planted  in  the  extra 
chair,  and  begin  breakin'  the  news  to  him  about 
Pyramid's  batty  will. 

And  even  after  all  them  years  Webb  flushes 
pink  in  the  ears  at  the  mention  of  the  name. 
"  Oh,  yes,  Gordon,"  says  he.  "  I — I  did  hold 
a  position  at  one  time  in  his  office.  Misun- 
derstanding? Not  at  all.  He  treated  me 
shamefully.  Rank  injustice,  it  was!  He — 
he  was  by  no  means  a  gentleman,  by  no 
means!  ' 

"  I  hear  you  tried  to  assassinate  him  with  a 
mop,"  says  I. 

"  I — I  was  not  quite  myself,"  says  Gerald, 
colorin'  still  more.  "  You  see,  he  put  me  in 
such  a  false  position  before  those  Chicago  men ; 
and  when  I  tried  to  tell  them  the  truth  he — 
well,  he  acted  brutally.  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Mc- 
Cabe,  what  would  you  have  done!  ' 

11  Me?  "  says  I.  "I  expect  I'd  slapped  him 
rough  on  the  wrist,  or  something  like  that.  But 
you  know  he  was  always  a  little  quick  about 
such  things,  and  when  it  was  all  over  he  was 
gen 'rally  sorry — if  he  had  time.  You  see  he 


CATCHING  UP  WITH  GERALD  225 

remembered  your  case.  Now  the  idea  is,  how 
can  that  little  affair  of  yours  be  squared?  ' 

"  It  may  have  been  a  little  affair  to  him," 
says  Gerald,  poutin'  a  bit  sulky;  "  but  it  wasn't 
so  to  me.  It — it  changed  my  whole  life — ut- 
terly! " 

"  Of  course,"  puts  in  J.  Bayard  soothin'. 
"  We  understand  that,  Mr.  Webb." 

11  But  you've  come  out  all  right;  you  struck 
something  just  as  good,  or  better,  eh?  "  and  I 
waves  round  at  the  teashop.  "  Course1,  you 
ain't  catchin'  the  business  here  you  might  if 
you  was  located  better.  And  I  expect  you  feel 
like  you  was  wastin'  your  talents  on  a  place 
this  size.  But  with  a  whole  second  floor  near 
some  of  the  big  Fifth  avenue  department  stores, 
where  you  could  soak  'em  half  a  dollar  for  a 
club  sandwich  and  a  quarter  for  a  cup  of  tea,— 
a  flossy,  big  joint  with  a  hundred  tables,  real 
French  waiters  from  Staten  Island,  and  a  genu- 
ine Hungarian  orchestra,  imported  from  East 
176th  street,  where  you  could  handle  a  line  of 
Mexican  drawnwork,  and  Navajo  blankets,  and 
Russian  samovars,  and " 

' '  No,  no !  "  breaks  in  Gerald  peevish. 
"  Stop!  " 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  gawpin'  at  him. 

11  If  you  are  proposing  all  that  as  a — a 
recompense  for  being  publicly  humiliated," 
says  he,  "  and  having  my  career  entirely 
spoiled — well,  you  just  needn't,  that's  all.  I  do 
not  care  for  anything  of  the  kind." 


226      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

I  gasps.  Then  I  gazes  foolish  over  at  J.  Bay- 
ard to  see  if  he  has  anything  to  offer.  He  just 
scowls  at  me  and  shakes  his  head,  as  much  as 
to  say: 

"  There,  you  see!  You've  messed  things  all 
up." 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Webb,"  says  I.  "  Then  you 
name  it." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  says  he,  "  that  Mr.  Gordon 
intended  to  leave  me  something  in  his  will ;  that 
he — er — considered  I  was  entitled  to  some — 
ah " 

"  That's  the  idea,  more  or  less,"  says  I. 
"  Only  Mr.  Steele  here,  he's  been  tryin'  to  dope 
out  what  would  suit  you  best." 

"  Could — could  it  be  in  the  form  of  a — a 
cash  sum?  "  asks  Gerald. 

I  sighs  relieved  and  looks  inquirin'  at  Steele. 
He  nods,  and  I  nods  back. 

"  Sure  thing,"  says  I. 

II  How  much?  "  demands  Webb. 

"  Time  out,"  says  I,  "  until  Mr.  Steele  and  I 
can  get  together." 

So  while  Gerald  is  pacin'  nervous  up  and 
down  between  the  tables  we  makes  figures  on 
the  back  of  the  menu.  We  begins  by  guessin* 
what  he  was  gettin'  when  he  was  fired,  then 
what  salary  he  might  have  been  pullin'  down  in 
five  years,  at  the  end  of  ten,  and  so  on,  deductin* 
some  for  black  times  and  makin'  allowances  for 
hard  luck.  But  inside  of  five  minutes  we'd 
agreed  on  a  lump  sum. 


CATCHING  UP  WITH  GERALD  227 

"  What  about  twenty  thousand?  "  says  I. 

Gerald  gulps  once  or  twice,  turns  a  little  pale, 
and  then  asks  choky,  "  Would — would  you  put 
that  in  writing?  " 

"  I  can  give  you  a  voucher  for  the  whole 
amount,"  says  Steele. 

"  Then — then  please!  "  says  Gerald,  and  he 
stands  over  J.  Bayard,  starin'  eager,  while  the 
paper  is  bein'  made  out.  He  watches  us  both 
sign  our  names. 

"  This  is  drawn,"  says  Steele,  "  on  the  at- 
torney for  the  estate,  and  when  you  present  it 
he  will  give  you  a  check  for " 

"  Thanks,"  says  Gerald,  reachin'  trembly 
for  the  voucher. 

For  a  minute  he  stands  gazin'  at  it  before  he 
stows  it  away  careful  in  an  inside  vest  pocket. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  he  seems  to  straighten  up. 
He  squares  his  shoulders  and  stiffens  his  jaw. 

"  Evelyn!  "  he  sings  out.    "  Ho,  Evelyn!  " 

It  ain't  any  smooth,  ladylike  tone  he  uses, 
either.  A  couple  of  stout  female  parties,  that's 
been  toyin'  with  lobster  Newburg  patties  and 
chocolate  eclairs  and  gooseberry  tarts,  stops 
their  gossipin'  and  glares  round  at  him  indig- 
nant. 

"  Evelyn,  I  say!  "  he  goes  on,  fairly  roarin* 
it  out. 

•\ 

At  that  out  comes  Sister  from  behind  her 
little  coop  lookin'  panicky.  Also  in  from  the 
kitchen  piles  the  haughty  waitress  with  the 
mustard-tinted  hair,  and  a  dumpy,  frowzy  one 


that  I  hadn't  noticed  before.  The  haughty  one 
glares  at  Gerald  scornful,  almost  as  if  he'd  been 
a  customer. 

"  Why — why,  Brother  dear!  "  begins  Eve- 
lyn, still  holdin'  open  the  novel  she'd  been 
readin'.  "  What  is  the  matter?  " 

"I'm  through,  that's  all,"  he  announces 
crisp. 

"  You — you  are  what?  "  asks  his  sister. 

"Through,"  says  Gerald  loud  and  snappy. 
"I'm  going  to  quit  all  this — now,  too.  I'm  go- 
ing to  close  up,  going  out  of  the  business.  Un- 
derstand? So  get  those  women  out  of  here  at 
once." 

"  But — but,  Gerald,"  gasps  Evelyn,  "  they 
— you  see  they  are " 

"  I  don't  care  whether  they've  finished  or 
not,"  says  he.  "  It  doesn't  matter.  They 
needn't  pay.  But  clear  'em  out.  Eight 
away!  " 

She  had  big  dark  eyes,  Sister  Evelyn.  She 
was  thinner  than  Gerald,  and  a  few  years  older, 
I  should  guess.  Anyway,  her  hair  showed  more 
gray  streaks.  She  had  a  soft,  easy  voice  and 
gentle  ways.  She  didn't  faint,  or  throw  any 
emotional  fit.  She  just  looks  at  Gerald  mildly 
reproachful  and  remarks: 

"  Very  well,  Brother  dear,"  and  then  glides 
down  the  aisle  to  the  two  heavy-weight  food 
destroyers. 

We  couldn't  hear  just  what  she  told  'em,  but 
it  must  have  been  convincin'.  They  gathers  up 


CATCHING  UP  WITH  GERALD  229 

their  wraps  and  shoppin'  bags  and  sails  out, 
sputterin'  peevish. 

"  Here,  Celia!  "  commands  Gerald,  turnin' 
to  the  waitresses.  "  You  and  Bertha  pull  down 
those  front  shades — tight,  mind  you!  Then 
turn  on  the  dome  and  side  lights — all  of  'em." 

We  sat  watchin'  the  proceedin's,  Steele  and 
me,  with  our  mouths  open,  not  knowin'  whether 
to  go  or  stay.  Evelyn  stands  starin'  at  him  too. 
In  a  minute,  though,  he  whirls  on  her. 

"  You  needn't  think  I've  gone  crazy,  Eve- 
lyn," he  says.  "  I  was  never  more  sane.  But 
something  has  happened.  I've  just  had  a 
windfall.  You'd  never  guess.  From  old  Gor- 
don; you  remember,  the  beast  who " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  says  Evelyn.  "  Mr.  Steele 
has  been  talking  to  me  about  it." 

"  Has,  eh?  "  says  Gerald.  "  Well,  I  trust  it 
wasn't  you  who  gave  him  that  idea  about  keep- 
ing me  in  this  fool  business  for  the  rest  of  my 
life.  Ugh !  Talking  sappy  to  an  endless  stream 
of  silly  women,  palming  off  on  them  such  use- 
less junk  as  this!  Look  at  it!  Egyptian 
scarabs,  made  in  Connecticut;  Ceylonese  coral, 
from  North  Attleboro,  Mass.;  Bohemian  glass- 
ware, from  Sandsburg,  Pa.;  Indian  baskets 
woven  by  the  Papago  tribe,  meaning  Ruther- 
ford, N.  J.  Bah!  For  nearly  twelve  years 
I've  been  doing  this.  And  you're  to  blame  for 
it,  you  and  Irene  and  Georgianna.  You  got  me 
into  it  when  I  could  find  nothing  else  to  do,  and 
then  somehow  I  couldn't  seem  to  get  out.  Ly- 


230      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

ing  and  smirking  and  dickering  day  after  day 
— sickening!  But  I'm  through.  And  just  as  a 
relief  to  my  feelings  I'm  going  to  finish  off  a 
lot  of  this  rubbish  before  I  go.  Watch !  " 

With  that  he  picks  a  teapot  from  our  table, 
balances  it  careful  in  one  hand,  and  sends  it 
bang  at  a  shelf  full  of  blue  and  yellow  pitchers. 

Crash!    Smash!    Tinkle-tinkle! 

It  was  a  good  shot.  He  got  three  or  four  of 
'em  at  one  clip. 

Next  he  reaches  for  the  sugar  bowl  and 
chucks  that.  More  crash.  More  tinkle-tinkle. 
This  time  it  was  sort  of  a  side-wipin'  blow,  and 
a  full  half-dozen  fancy  cream  jugs  bit  the  dust. 

"Good  eye!"  says  I,  chucklin'.  Even  J. 
Bayard  has  to  grin. 

As  for  Sister  Evelyn,  she  says  never  a  word, 
but  braces  herself  against  a  table  and  grips  her 
hands  together,  like  she  was  preparin'  to  have 
a  tooth  out.  The  dumpy  waitress  clutches  the 
haughty  one  around  the  waist  and  breathes 
wheezy. 

"  Vases!  "  says  Gerald,  scowlin'  at  a  shelf. 
11  Silly  vases!  " 

And  with  that  he  ups  with  a  chair,  swings  it 
over  his  shoulder,  and  mows  down  a  whole  row 
of  'em.  They  goes  crashin'  onto  the  floor. 

"  Muh  Gord!  "  gasps  the  dumpy  tea  juggler. 

"  Clean  alley!  Set  'em  up  on  the  other!  "  I 
sings  out. 

But  Gerald  is  too  busy  to  notice  side  remarks. 
His  thin  face  is  flushed  and  his  eyes  sparkle. 


CATCHING  UP  WITH  GEEALD  231 

Peelin'  off  the  cutaway,  he  tosses  it  careless  on 
a  table. 

"  Look  out  for  splinters!  "  says  he  as  he 
heaves  a  chair  into  the  showcase  among  the  fake 
jew'lry,  and  with  another  proceeds  to  make 
vicious  swipes  at  whatever 's  left  on  the  shelves. 

As  a  tearoom  wrecker  he  was  some  artist, 
believe  me !  Not  a  blessed  thing  that  could  be 
smashed  did  he  miss,  and  what  he  couldn't 
break  he  bent  or  dented. 

"  Ain't  he  just  grand!"  observes  Celia  to 
her  dumpy  friend.  "  My !  I  didn't  think  it  was 
in  him." 

It  was,  though.  A  village  fire  department 
couldn't  have  done  a  neater  job,  or  been  more 
thorough.  He  even  tosses  down  a  lot  of  work 
baskets  and  jumps  on  'em  and  kicks  'em  about. 

"  There!  "  says  he,  after  a  lively  session, 
when  the  place  looks  like  it  had  been  through  a 
German  siege.  "  Now  it's  all  genuine  junk,  I 
guess." 

Sister  Evelyn  gazes  at  him  placid.  "  No 
doubt  about  that,"  she  remarks.  "  And  I  hope 
you  feel  better,  Brother  dear.  Perhaps  you 
will  tell  me,  though,  what  is  to  become  of  me 
now. ' ' 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  some  money  for  you," 
says  he.  "  If  you're  silly  enough,  you  can  buy 
a  lot  more  of  this  stuff  and  keep  on.  If  you 
have  any  sense,  you'll  quit  and  go  live  with 
Irene. ' ' 

"  And  you,  Gerald?  "  asks  Evelyn. 


232      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  I'm  off,"  says  he.  "I'm  going  to  do  some 
real  work,  man's  work.  You  saw  that  dark- 
looking  chap  who  was  in  here  a  few  days  ago? 
That  was  Bentley,  who  used  to  be  bank  mes- 
senger in  old  Gordon's  office.  He  was  dis- 
charged without  cause  too.  But  he  had  no  five 
sisters  to  make  a  sappy  tearoom  manager  out 
of  him.  He  went  to  the  Argentine.  Owns  a 
big  cattle  ranch  down  there.  Wants  me  to  go 
in  with  him  and  buy  the  adjoining  ranch.  He 
sails  day  after  to-morrow.  I'm  going  with 
him,  to  live  a  wild,  rough  life;  and  the  wilder 
and  rougher  it  is  the  better  I  shall  like  it." 

"  Oh!  "  says  Sister  Evelyn,  liftin'  her  eye- 
brows sarcastic.  "  Will  you?  ' 

Well,  that's  just  what  J.  Bayard  and  I  have 
been  askin'  each  other  ever  since.  Anyway, 
he's  gone.  Showed  up  here  in  the  studio  the 
last  thing,  wearin'  a  wide-brimmed  felt  hat 
with  a  leather  band — and  if  that  don't  signify 
somethin'  wild  and  rough,  I  don't  know  what 
does. 

"  Rather  an  impetuous  nature,  Gerald's," 
observes  Steele.  "  I  hope  it  doesn't  get  him 
into  trouble  -down  there. ' ' 

"Who  knows?"  says  I.  "Next  thing  we 
may  be  hearin'  how  he's  tried  to  stab  some 
Spaniard  with  a  whisk  broom. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XV 

SHOETY   HEARS   FROM   PEMAQUID 

IT  was  mostly  my  fault.  I'd  left  the  Physical 
Culture  Studio  and  was  swingin'  east  across 
42d-st.  absentminded,  when  I  takes  a  sudden 
notion  to  have  lunch  at  my  favorite  chophouse 
joint  on  Broadway,  and  it  was  the  quick  turn  I 
made  that  causes  the  collision. 

I  must  have  hit  him  kind  of  solid  too ;  for  his 
steel-rimmed  glasses  are  jarred  off,  and  before 
I  can  pick  'em  up  they've  been  stepped  on. 

"  Sorry,  old  scout,"  says  I.  "  Didn't  know 
you'd  dodged  in  behind.  And  it's  my  buy  on 
the  eyeglasses." 

"  Sho!  "  says  he.  "  No  great  harm  done, 
young  man.  But  them  specs  did  cost  me  a 
quarter  in  Portland,  and  if  you  feel  like 
you " 

"  Sure  thing!  "  says  I.  "  Here's  a  half — 
get  a  good  pair  this  time." 

"  No,  Son,"  says  he,  "a  quarter's  all  they 
cost,  and  Jim  Isham  never  takes  more'n  his  due. 
Just  wait  till  I  git  out  the  change." 

So  I  stands  there  lookin'  him  over  while  he 
unwraps  about  four  yards  of  fishline  from 
around  the  neck  of  a  leather  money  pouch.  Odd 

233 


234      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

old  Rube  he  was,  straight  and  lean,  and  smoked 
up  like  a  dried  herring. 

"  There  you  be,?'  says  he,  countin'  out  two 
tens  and  a  five. 

Course,  I'd  felt  better  if  he'd  kept  the  half. 
The  kale  pouch  wa'n't  so  heavy,  and  from  the 
seedy  blue  suit  and  the  faded  old  cap  I  judged 
he  could  use  that  extra  quarter.  But  somehow 
I  couldn't  insist. 

"  All  right,  Cap,"  says  I.  "  Next  time  I 
turn  sudden  I'll  stick  my  hand  out."  I  was 
movin'  off  when  I  notices  him  still  standin'  sort 
of  hesitatin'.  "  Well?  "ladds.  "  Can  I  help?  " 

"  You  don't  happen  to  know,"  says  he,  "  of 
a  good  eatin'  house  where  it  don't  cost  too  all- 
fired  much  to  git  a  square  meal,  do  youf  ' 

*  *  Why, ' '  says  I,  "  I-  expect  over  on  Eighth- 

ave.,  you  could "  And  then  I  gets  this  rash 

notion  of  squarin'  the  account  by  blowin'  him 
to  a  real  feed.  Course,  I  might  be  sorry;  but 
he  looks  so  sort  of  lonesome  and  helpless  that 
I  decides  on  takin'  a  chance.  "  Say,  you  come 
with  me,"  says  I,  "  and  lemme  stack  you  up 
against  the  real  thing  in  Canadian  mutton 
chops. ' ' 

"  If  it  don't  cost  over  twenty-five  cents," 
says  he. 

"  It  won't,"  says  I,  smotherin'  a  grin.  He 
wa'n't  a  grafter,  anyway,  and  the  only  way  I 
could  ease  his  mind  on  the  expense  question  was 
to  let  him  hand  me  a  quarter  before  we  went 
in,  and  make  him  think  that  covered  his  share. 


SHORTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID    235 

Max,  the  head  waiter,  winks  humorous  as  he 
sees  who  I'm  towin'  in;  but  he  gives  us  a 
table  by  a  Broadway  window  and  surprises  the 
old  boy  by  pullin'  out  his  chair  respectful. 

"  Much  obliged,  Mister,"  says  Jim  Isham. 
"  Much  obliged." 

With  that  he  hangs  his  old  cap  cdreful  on  the 
candle  shade.  It's  one  of  these  oldtime  blizzard 
headpieces,  with  sides  that  you  can  turn  down 
over  your  ears  and  neck.  Must  have  worn  that 
some  constant;  for  from  the  bushy  eyebrows 
up  he's  as  white  as  a  piece  of  chalk,  and  with 
the  rest  of  his  face  so  coppery  it  gives  him  an 
odd,  skewbald  look. 

I  expected  a  place  like  Collins 's,  with  all  its- 
pictures  and  rugs  and  fancy  silverware,  would 
surprise  him  some;  but  he  don't  seem  at  all 
fussed.  He  tucks  his  napkin  under  his  chin 
natural  and  gazes  around  int 'rested.  He 
glances  suspicious  at  a  wine  cooler  that's  carted' 
by,  and  when  the  two  gents  at  the  next  table  are 
served  with  tall  glasses  of  ale  he  looks  around 
as  if  he  was  locatin'  an  exit.  Next  he  digs  into 
an  inside  pocket,  hauls  out  a  paper,  spreads  it 
on  the  table,  and  remarks : 

"  Let's  see,  Mister — jest  about  where  are  we 
now?  " 

I  gives  him  the  cross  street  and  the  Broad- 
way number,  and  he  begins  tracin'  eager  with 
his  finger.  Fin'lly  he  says: 

"  All  correct.  Right  in  the  best  of  the 
water." 


236      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  What's  that  you've  got 
there?  " 

"  Sailin'  directions,"  says  he,  smilin'  apolo- 
getic. "  You  mustn't  mind;  but  for  a  minute 
there,  seein'  all  the  liquor  bein'  passed  around, 
I  didn't  know  but  what  I'd  got  among  the  rocks 
and  shoals.  But  it's  all  right.  Full  ten  fathom, 
and  plenty  of  sea  room. ' ' 

"  Too  tarry  for  me,"  says  I.  "  Meanin' 
what,  now?  " 

He  chuckles  easy.  "  Why,  it's  this  way," 
says  he:  "  You  see,  before  I  starts  from  home 
I  talks  it  over  with  Cap'n  Bill  Logan.  '  Jim,' 
says  he,  *  if  you're  goin'  to  cruise  around  New 
York  you  need  a  chart.' — '  Guess  you're  right, 
Cap'n  Bill,'  says  I.  '  Fix  me  up  one,  won't 
ye?  '  And  that's  what  he  done.  You  see, 
Cap'n  Bill  knows  New  York  like  a  book.  Used 
to  sail  down  here  with  ice  from  the  Kennebec, 
and  sometimes,  while  he  was  dischargin'  cargo, 
he'd  lay  in  here  for  a  week  at  a  time.  Great 
hand  to  knock  around  too,  Cap'n  Bill  is,  and 
mighty  observin'." 

"  So  he  made  a  map  for  you,  did  he?  "  says  I. 

"  Not  exactly,"  says  Mr.  Isham.  "  Found 
one  in  an  old  guide  book  and  fixed  it  up  like  a 
chart,  markin'  off  the  reefs  and  shoals  in  red 
ink,  and  the  main  channels  in  black  fathom 
figures.  Now  here's  Front  and  South-sts.,  very 
shoal,  dangerous  passin'  at  any  tide.  There's 
a  channel  up  the  Bowery;  but  it's  crooked  and 
full  of  buoys  and  beacons.  I  ain't  tackled  that 


SHORTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID    237 

yet.  I've  stuck  to  Broadway  and  Fifth-ave. 
All  clear  sailin'  there." 

"  Think  so?  "  says  I.  "  Let's  see  that 
chart  I  " 

He  passes  it  over  willin'  enough.  And,  say, 
for  a  sailor's  guide  to  New  York,  that  was  a 
peach!  Cap'n  Bill  Logan's  idea  seems  to  have 
been  to  indicate  all  the  crooked  joints,  gamblin' 
halls,  and  such  with  red  daggers.  Must  have 
been  some  investigator  too;  for  in  spots  they 
was  sprinkled  thick,  with  the  names  written 
alongside.  When  I  begun  readin'  some  of  'em, 
though,  I  snickers. 

"  What's  this  on  the  Bowery?  "  says  I. 
"  Suicide  Hall?  " 

' '  You  bet !  ' '  says  he.  * '  Cap  'n  Bill  warned 
me  about  that  special." 

"  Did,  eh?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  he  needn't;  for 
it's  been  out  of  business  for  years.  So  has 
Honest  John  Kelly's,  and  Theiss's,  and  Stev- 
enson's. What  vintage  is  this,  anyway!  When 
was  it  your  friend  took  in  the  sights  last?  ' 

"  Wall,  I  guess  it's  been  quite  awhile,"  says 
Jim  Isham,  rubbin'  his  chin.  "  Let's  see,  Bill 
opened  the  store  in  '95,  and  for  a  couple  of 
years  before  that  he  was  runnin'  the  shingle 
mill.  Yes,  it  must  have  been  nigh  twenty  years 
ago. ' ' 

"  Back  in  the  days  of  the  Parkhurst 
crusade,"  says  I.  "  Yes,  I  expect  all  them 
dives  was  runnin'  full  blast  once.  But  there 
ain't  one  of  'em  left." 


"  Sho!  "  says  he.  "  You  don't  say!  Gov'- 
ment  been  improvin'  the  channels,  same  as  they 
done  in  Hell  Gate?  " 

"  Something  like  that,"  says  I.  "  Only  not 
quite  the  same ;  for  when  them  Hell  Gate  rocks 
was  blown  up  that  was  the  end  of  'em.  But 
we  get  a  fresh  crop  of  red  light  joints  every 
season.  You  tell  Cap'n  Bill  when  you  get 
back  that  his  wickedness  chart  needs  revisin'." 

"  I'll  write  him  that,  b'gum!  "  says  Mr. 
Isham.  "  Maybe  that's  why  I  couldn't  locate 
this  reservoir  he  said  I  ought  to  see,  the  one  I 
was  huntin'  for  when  we  fouled.  See,  it  says 
corner  of  42d  and  Fifth-ave.,  plain  as  day;  but 
all  I  could  find  was  that  big  white  buildin'  with 
the  stone  lions  in  front." 

' l  Naturally, ' '  says  I ;  '  *  for  they  tore  the  old 
reservoir  down  years  ago  and  built  the  new 
city  lib'ry  on  the  spot.  But  how  was  it  your 
friend  put  in  so  many  warnin's  against  them 
old  dives?  You  didn't  come  on  to  cultivate  a 
late  crop  of  wild  oats,  did  you?  " 

"  Nary  an  oat,"  says  he,  shakin'  his  head 
solemn.  "  I  ain't  much  of  a  churchgoer;  but 
I've  always  been  a  moderate,  steady-goin'  man. 
It  was  on  account  of  my  havin'  this  money  to 
invest." 

"  Oh!  "  says  I.    "Much?  " 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars,"  says  he. 

I  glances  at  him  puzzled.  Was  it  a  case  of 
loose  wirin',  or  was  this  old  jay  tryin'  to  hand 
me  the  end  of  the  twine  ball?  Just  then, 


SHORTY  HEAES  FEOM  PEMAQUID    239 

though,  along  comes  Hermann  with  a  couple  of 
three-inch,  combination  chops  and  a  dish  of 
baked  potatoes  all  broke  open  and  decorated 
with  butter  and  paprika ;  and  for  the  next  half- 
hour  Mr.  Isham's  conversation  works  are 
clogged  for  fair.  Not  that  he's  one  of  these 
human  sausage  machines;  but  he  has  a  good 
hearty  Down  East  appetite  and  a  habit  of  at- 
tendin'  strictly  to  business  at  mealtime. 

But  when  he's  finished  off  with  a  section  of 
deep-dish  apple  pie  and  a  big  cup  of  coffee  he 
sighs  satisfied,  unhooks  the  napkin,  lights  up  a 
perfecto  I've  ordered  for  him,  and  resumes 
where  he  left  off. 

"It's  a  heap  of  money  ain't  it?  "  says  he. 
"  I  didn't  know  at  first  whether  or  no  I 
ought  to  take  it.  That's  one  thing  I  come  on 
for." 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  I,  a  little  sarcastic  maybe. 
"  Had  to  be  urged,  did  you?  " 

"  Wall,"  says  he,  "  I  wa'n't  sure  the  fam'ly 
could  afford  it  exactly." 

"  It  was  a  gift,  then?  "  says  I. 

"  Willed  to  me,"  says  he.  "  Kind  of  cu- 
rious too.  Shucks !  when  I  took  them  folks  off 
the  yacht  that  time  I  wa'n't  thinkin'  of  any- 
thing like  this.  Course,  the  young  feller  did 
offer  me  some  bills  at  the  time;  but  he  did  it 
like  he  thought  I  was  expectin'  to  be  paid,  and 
I — well,  I  couldn't  take  it  that  way.  So  I  didn't 
git  a  cent.  I  thought  the  whole  thing  had  been 
forgotten  too,  when  that  letter  from  the  law- 


240      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

yers  comes  say  in'  how  this  Mr.  Fowler 
had r" 

"  Not  Roswell  K.f  "  I  breaks  in. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  man,"  says  he. 

11  Why,  I  remember  now,"  says  I.  "It  was 
the  yacht  his  son  and  his  new  wife  was  takin' 
a  honeymoon  trip  on.  And  she  went  on  some 
rocks  up  on  the  coast  of  Maine  durin'  a  storm. 
The  papers  was  full  of  it  at  the  time.  And  how 
they  was  all  rescued  by  an  old  lobsterman  who 
made  two  trips  in  a  leaky  tub  of  a  motorboat 
out  through  a  howlin'  northeaster.  And — why, 
say,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you're  Uncle 
Jimmy  Isham,  the  hero?  " 

* '  Sho !  ' '  says  he.  ' '  Don 't  you  begin  all  that 
nonsense  again.  I  was  pestered  enough  by  the 
summer  folks  that  next  season.  You  ought  to 
see  them  schoolma'ams  takin'  snapshots  of  me 
every  time  I  turned  around.  And  gushin'I 
Why,  it  was  enough  to  make  a  dog  laugh! 
Course  I  ain't  no  hero." 

"  But  that  must  have  been  some  risky  stunt 
of  yours,  just  the  same,"  I  insists. 

"Wall,"  he  admits,  "it  wa'n't  just  the 
weather  I'd  pick  to  take  the  old  Curlew  out 
in ;  but  when  I  see  through  the  glasses  what  the 
white  thing  was  that's  poundin'  around  on 
Razor  Back  Ledges,  and  seen  the  distress  sig- 
nal run  up — why,  I  couldn't  stay  ashore.  There 
was  others  would  have  gone,  I  guess,  if  I  hadn't. 
But  there  I  was,  an  old  bach,  and  not  much  good 
to  anybody  anyway,  you  know." 


SHORTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID    241 

"  Come,  come!  "  says  I.  "  Why  wa'n't  you 
as  good  as  the  next?  " 

"  I  dun 'no,"  says  he,  sighin'  a  little.  "  Only 
— only  you  know  the  kind  of  a  chap  that  every- 
body calls  Uncle  Jimmy?  That — that's  me." 

* '  But  you  went  out  and  got  'em !  "  I  goes  on. 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  It  wa'n't  so  much, 
though.  You  know  how  the  papers  run  on?  ' 

I  didn't  say  yes  or  no  to  that.    I  was  sittin' 
there  starin'  across  the  table,  tryin'  to  size  up 
this  leather-faced  old  party  with  the  bashful 
ways  and  the  simple  look  in  his  steady  eyes. 
The  grizzled  mustache  curlin'  close  around  his 
mouth  corners,  the  heavy  eyebrows,   and  the 
thick  head  of  gray  hair  somehow  reminds  me 
of  Mark  Twain,  as  we  used  to  see  him  a  few 
years  back  walkin'  up  Fifth-ave.     Only  Uncle 
Jimmy  was  a  little  softer  around  the  chin. 

"  Let's  see,"  says  I,  "  something  like  three 
summers  ago,  that  was,  wa'n't  it?  ' 

"  Four,"  says  he,  "  the  eighteenth  of  Sep- 
tember." 

"  And  since  then?  "  says  I. 

"  Just  the  same  as  before,"  says  he.  "  I've 
been  right  at  Pemaquid." 

"  At  what?  "  say  si. 

"  Pemaquid,"  he  repeats,  leanin'  hard  on  the 
"  quid."  "  I've  been  there  goin'  on  forty 
years,  now." 

II  Doin'  what?  "  says  I. 

"  Oh,  lobsterin'  mostly,"  says  he.  "  But 
late  years  they've  been  runnin'  so  scurce  that 


242      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

summers  I've  been  usin'  the  Curlew  as  a  party 
boat.  Ain't  much  money  in  it,  though." 

' '  How  much,  for  instance !  ' '  says  I. 

"  Wall,  this  season  I  cleaned  up  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty  dollars  from  the  Fourth 
to  Labor  Day,"  says  he.  "  But  there  was  lots 
of  good  days  when  I  didn't  git  any  parties  at 
all.  You  see,  I  loojs  kind  of  old  and  shabby. 
So  does  the  Curlew;  and  the  spruce  young  fel- 
lers with  the  new  boats  gits  the  cream  of  the 
trade.  But  it  don't  take  much  to  keep  me." 

1 1  I  should  say  not, ' '  says  I,  "  if  you  can  win- 
ter on  that ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  can  pick  up  a  few  dollars  now  and 
then  lobsterin'  and  fishin',"  says  he.  "  But 
it's  rough  work  in  the  winter  time." 

"  And  then  all  of  a  sudden,  you  say,"  says  I, 
11  you  get  fifty  thousand." 

"  I  couldn't  believe  it  at  fust,"  says  he. 
"  Neither  did  Cap'n  Bill  Logan.  He  was  the 
only  one  I  showed  the  letter  to.  '  Mebbe  it's 
just  some  fake,'  says  he,  '  gittin'  you  on  there 
to  sign  papers.  Tell  'em  to  send  twenty  dollars 
for  travelin'  expenses.'  Wall,  I  did,  and  what 
do  you  think?  They  sends  back  two  hundred, 
b'gum!  Yes,  Sir,  Cap'n  Bill  took  the  check  up 
to  Wiscasset  and  got  the  money  on  it  from  the 
bank.  Two  hundred  dollars!  Why,  say,  that 
would  take  me  putty  nigh  round  the  world,  I 
guess.  I  left  part  of  it  with  the  Cap'n,  and 
made  him  promise  not  to  tell  a  soul.  You  see,  I 
didn't  want  Cynthy  to  git  wind  of  it." 


SHORTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID    243 
"  Oh-ho!  "    says    I.      "  Some    relation,    is 


"Cynthy?  Land,  no!"  says  he.  "She's 
just  the  Widow  Allen,  over  to  the  Neck — Cyn- 
thy  Hamill  that  was.  I've  known  her  ever  since 
she  taught  school  at  Bristol  Mills.  She's  been 
a  widow  goin'  on  twenty  years  now,  and  most 
of  that  time  we've  been — well,  I  ain't  missed 
goin'  across  the  bay  once  or  twice  a  week  in 
all  that  time.  You  see,  Cynthy  not  havin'  any 
man,  I  kind  of  putter  around  for  her,  see  that 
she  has  plenty  of  stovewood  and  kindlin' 
chopped,  and  so  on.  She's  real  good  company, 
Cynthy  is, — plays  hymns  on  the  organ,  knits 
socks  for  me,  and  hanged  if  she  can't  make  the 
best  fish  chowder  I  ever  e't!  Course,  I  know 
the  neighbors  laugh  some  about  Cynthy  and  me ; 
but  they're  welcome.  Always  askin'  me  when 
the  weddin's  comin'  off.  But  sho!  They  know 
well  enough  I  never  had  the  money  to  git  mar- 
ried on." 

"  Got  enough  now,  though,  ain't  you,  Uncle 
Jimmy?  "  says  I,  winkin'. 

"  Too  blamed  much,"  says  he.  "  Cap'n  Bill 
showed  me  that  plain  at  our  last  talk.  '  Why, 
you  old  fool,'  says  he,  l  if  it  turns  out  true, 
then  you're  a  mighty  rich  man,  'most  a  mil- 
lionaire! You  can't  stay  on  livin'  here  in  your 
old  shack  at  Pemaquid.  You  got  to  have  the 
luxuries  and  the  refinements  of  life  now,'  says 
he,  '  and  you  got  to  go  to  the  city  to  git  'em. 
Boston  might  do  for  some;  but  if  it  was  me  I'd 


SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

camp  right  down  in  New  York  at  one  of  them 
swell  hotels,  and  just  enjoy  myself  to  the  end 
of  my  days.'  Wall,  here  I  be,  and  I'm  gittin' 
used  to  the  luxuries  gradual." 

."  How  hard  have  you  splurged?  "  says  I. 

"  Had  two  sodas  yesterday,"  says  he,  "  and 
maybe  I'll  tackle  one  of  them  movin'  picture 
shows  to-morrow.  I  been  aimin'  to.  It'd  be  all 
right,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I  wouldn't  call  that  any  wild  extrava- 
gance, with  fifty  thousand  to  draw  on,"  says  I. 
"  How  have  you  got  it?  " 

He  fishes  out  an  old  wallet,  unstraps  it  care- 
ful, and  shoves  over  a  cashier's  check.  No  bluff 
about  it.  He  had  the  goods. 

"  Said  you  was  goin'  to  invest  it,  didn't 
you?  "  I  suggests  cautious. 

"  That's  what's  botherin'  me  most  about  this 
whole  business,"  says  Uncle  Jimmy.  "  It's  an 
awful  lot  of  money  for  an  old  codger  like  me  to 
handle.  I  tried  to  git  young  Mr.  Fowler  to  take 
half  of  it  back;  but  he  only  laughs  and  says  he 
couldn't  do  that,  and  guessed  how  he  and  the 
wife  was  worth*  that  much,  anyway.  Besides,  I 
expect  he  don 't  need  it. ' ' 

"  I  should  say  that  was  a  safe  bet,"  says  I. 
"  If  I  remember  right,  his  share  of  the  estate 
was  ten  or  twelve  millions." 

"  Gorry!  "  says  Uncle  Jimmy.    "  No  wonder 
he  couldn't  tell  me  what  to  put  it  into,  either. 
Maybe  you  could  give  me  an  idea,  though." 
Me?  "  says  I.    "  Why,  you  don't  know  me, 


( t 


SHORTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID    245 

Uncle  Jimmy.  You  wouldn't  want  to  take 
a  stranger's  advice  about  investin'  your 
money. ' ' 

"  Sho!  "  says  he.  "  Why  not?  I've  asked 
most  everybody  I've  had  a  chance  to  talk  with 
ever  since  I  got  here,  and  most  of  'em  has  been 
mighty  accommodatin '.  Why,  there  was  one 
young  man  that  followed  me  out  of  the  lawyer's 
office  just  to  tell  me  of  some  gold  mine  stock 
he  knew  about  that  inside  of  six  months  was 
goin'  to  be  worth  ten  times  what  it's  sellin'  for 
now.  Offered  to  buy  me  a  controllin'  interest 
too." 

11  You  don't  mean  it!  "  says  I. 

"  Yes,  Sir.  Nice,  bright  feller  that  didn't 
know  me  from  Adam,"  says  Uncle  Jimmy. 
"  Took  me  ridin'  in  one  of  these  here  taxicabs 
and  bought  me  a  bang-up  hotel  dinner.  And  if 
it  hadn't  been  that  I  knew  of  a  Methodist  min- 
ister once  who  lost  twenty  dollars  in  gold  mine 
stocks,  hanged  if  I  wouldn't  have  invested 
heavy!  But  somehow,  ever  since  hearin'  of 
that,  I've  had  an  idea  gold  mines  was  sort  of 
risky. ' ' 

"  Which  ain't  such  a  fool  hunch,  either," 
says  I. 

"  Then  only  this  mornin',"  goes  on  Uncle 
Jimmy  enthusiastic,  "  I  runs  across  a  mighty 
friendly,  spruce-dressed  pair, — big  Pittsburgh 
fi-nanciers,  they  said  they  was, — who  was 
makin'  money  hand  over  fist  bettin'  on  hoss 
races  somewheres." 


246      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

1 '  Well,  well !  ' '  says  I.  ' '  Had  an  operator 
who'd  tapped  a  poolroom  wire  and  could  hold 
up  returns,  didn't  they?  ' 

"  That's  it!  "  says  Uncle  Jimmy.  "  They 
explained  just  how  it  was  done;  but  I'm  a  little 
slow  under standin'  such  things.  Anyway,  they 
took  me  to  a  place  where  I  saw  one  of  'em  win 
two  thousand  inside  of  ten  minutes;  and  b'gum, 
if  I'd  been  a  bettin'  man,  I  could  have  made  a 
heap!  I  did  let  one  of  'em  put  up  fifty  cents 
for  me,  and  he  brought  back  five  dollars  in  no 
time.  They  seemed  real  put  out  too  when  I 
wouldn't  take  the  chance  of  a  lifetime  and  bet 
a  thousand  on  the  next  race.  But  somehow  I 
couldn't  bring  myself  to  it.  What  would 
Cynthy  think  if  she  knew  I  was  down  here  in 
New  York,  bettin'  on  hoss  races?  No,  Sir,  I 
couldn't." 

"  And  you  got  away  with  the  five,  did  you!  " 
says  I. 

"  Don't  tell,"  says  Uncle  Jimmy,  "  but  I 
slipped  it  in  an  envelope  and  sent  it  to  that 
shiftless  Hank  Tuttle,  over  at  the  point.  You 
see,  Hank  guzzles  hard  cider,  and  plays  penny 
ante,  and  is  always  hard  up.  He  won't  know 
where  it  come  from,  and  won't  care.  The  fine 
cigars  them  two  handed  out  so  free  I'm  keepin' 
to  smoke  Sunday  afternoons." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  That's  a  good  record  so 
far,  Uncle  Jimmy.  Anything  more  along  that 
line?  " 

"  Wall,"  says  he,  "  there  was  one  chance  I 


SHORTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUED    247 

expect  I  shouldn't  have  let  slip.  Got  to  talkin' 
with  a  feller  in  the  hotel,  sort  of  a  hook-nosed, 
foreign-speakin'  man,  who's  in  the  show  busi- 
ness. He  says  his  brother-in-law,  by  the  name 
of  Goldberg,  has  got  an  idea  for  a  musical 
comedy  that  would  just  set  Broadway  wild  and 
make  a  mint  of  money.  All  he  needed  to  start 
it  was  twenty  or  thirty  thousand,  and  he 
figured  it  would  bring  in  four  times  that  the 
first  season.  And  he  was  willin'  to  let  me  have 
a  half  interest  in  his  scheme.  I'd  gone  in  too, 
only  from  what  he  said  I  thought  it  must  be 
one  of  these  pieces  where  they  have  a  lot  of 
girls  in  tights,  and — well,  I  thought  of  Cynthy 
again.  What  would  she  say  to  me  bein'  mixed 
up  with  a  show  of  that  kind  1  So  I  had  to  drop 
it." 

"  Any  taxi  rides  or  cigars  in  that?  "  says.,1. 

"  Just  cigars,"  says  Uncle  Jimmy. 

11  But  you  mean  to  invest  that  fifty  thousand 
sooner  or  later,  don't  you?  "  says  I. 

"  Cap'n  Bill  said  I  ought  to,"  says  he,  "  and 
live  off'm  the  interest.  He's  a  mighty  smart 
business  man,  Cap'n  Bill  is.  And  I  guess  I'll 
find  something  before  long." 

"  You  can't  miss  it,"  says  I,  "  specially  if 
you  keep  on  as  you've  started.  But  see  here, 
Uncle  Jimmy,  while  I  ain't  got  any  wonderful 
deal  of  my  own  for  you  to  put  your  money  in,  I 
might  throw  out  a  useful  hint  or  two  as  to  other 
folk's  plans.  Suppose  you  just  take  my  card, 
and  before  you  tie  up  with  any  accommodatin' 


248      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

financiers  drop  in  at  the  studio,  and  talk  it  over 
with  me." 

"  Why,  much  obliged,  Mr. — er — Professor 
McCabe,"  says  he,  readin'  the  name  off  the 
card.  "Mebbelwill." 

"  Better  make  it  a  promise,"  says  I.  "I 
hate  to  knock  our  fair  village ;  but  now  and  then 
you  might  find  a  crook  in  New  York." 

"  So  I've  heard,"  says  he;  "  but  I  kind  of 
think  I'd  know  one  if  he  run  afoul  of  me.  And 
everybody  I've  met  so  far  has  been  mighty 
nice. ' ' 

Well,  what  else  was  there  for  me  to'  say? 
There  wa'n't  any  more  suspicion  in  them  gen- 
tle blue  eyes  of  his  than  in  a  baby's.  Forty 
years  in  Pemaquid!  Must  be  some  moss- 
grown,  peaceful  spot,  where  a  man  can  grow 
up  so  innocent  and  simple,  and  yet  have  the 
stuff  in  him  Uncle  Jimmy  must  have  had.  So 
I  tows  him  back  to  42d-st.,  points  him  towards 
the  new  lib 'ry. again,  and  turns  him  loose;  him 
in  his  old  blue  suit  and  faded  cap,  with  Cap'n 
Bill's  antique  dive  chart  and  certified  check  for 
fifty  thousand  in  his  inside  pocket. 

I  thought  he  might  show  up  at  the  studio  in 
a  day  or  so,  to  submit  some  get-rich-quick  fake 
to  me.  But  he  didn't.  A  couple  of  weeks  goes 
by.  Still  no  Uncle  Jimmy.  I  was  beginmn'  to 
look  for  accounts  in  the  papers  of  how  an  old 
jay  from  the  coast  of  Maine  had  been  bunkoed 
and  gone  to  the  police  with  his  tale  of  woe ;  but 
nothin'  of  the  kind  appears.  They  don't  al- 


SHORTY  HEARS  FROM  PEMAQUID    249 

ways  squeal,  you  know.  Maybe  lie  was  that 
kind. 

Then  here  the  other  day  in  that  big  storm  we 
had,  as  I'm  standin'  in  the  doorway  hesitatin' 
about  dodgin'  out  into  them  slantwise  sheets  of 
rain,  who  should  come  paddlin'  along,  his  coat 
collar  turned  up  and  his  cap  pulled  down,  but 
Uncle  Jimmy  Isham. 

"  Well,  well!  "  says  I,  makin*  room  for  him 
in  the  hallway.  "  Still  here,  eh?  Gettin' to  be 
a  reg'lar  Broadway  rounder,  I  expect?  ' 

11  No,"  says  he,  shakin'  the  water  off  of  him 
like  a  terrier,  "  I — I  can't  seem  to  get  used  to 
bein'  a  city  man.  Fact  is,  McCabe,  I  guess  I 
begun  too  late.  I  don't  like  it  at  all." 

"  Homesick  for  Pemaquid?  "  says  I. 

"  That's  it,"  says  he.  "I  stove  it  off  until 
this  mornin'.  I'd  been  doin'  fust  rate  too, 
goin'  to  picture  shows  reg'lar,  takin'  in  the 
sights,  and  tryin'  to  make  myself  believe  I  was 
enjoyin'  all  the  luxuries  and  refinements  of  life, 
like  Cap'n  Bill  said  I  ought  to.  But  when  I 
woke  up  at  daylight  and  heard  this  nor'easter 
snortin'  through  the  streets  I  couldn't  stand  it 
a  mite  longer.  I  dun 'no's  I  can  make  it  plain 
to  you,  but — well,  this  ain't  no  place  to  be  in  a 
storm.  Never  saw  the  surf  pile  up  on  Pema- 
quid  Point,  did  you?  Then  you  ought  to  once. 
And  I  bet  it's  rollin'  in*  some  there  now.  Yes, 
Sir!  The  old  graybacks  are  jest  thunderin'  in 
on  them  rocks  with  a  roar  you  can  hear  three 
miles  back  in  the  woods.  Roarin'  and  smashin', 


250      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

they  are,  grand  and  mighty  and  awful.  And  I 
want  to  be  there  to  see  and  hear.  I  got  to, 
that's  all.  What's  shows  and  museums  and 
ridin'  in  the  subway,  compared  to  a  storm  on 
Pemaquid?  No,  Sir,  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer. 
I'm  goin'  back  on  the  Boston  boat  to-night,  and 
before  it's  calmed  down  at  the  point  I'll  be 
there.  I'm  goin'  to  stay  there  too;  that  is,  if  I 
don't  move  over  to  the  Neck." 

"  With  Cynthy?  "  says  I. 

"  If  she'll  let  me,"  says  he. 

"  Got  the  fifty  thousand  invested  yet?  " 
says  I. 

"  No,"  says  he,  droppin'  his  chin  guilty,  "  I 
ain't.  And  I  expect  Cap'n  Bill  will  call  me  an 
old  fool.  But  I  couldn't  jest  seem  to  find  the 
right  thing  to  put  it  into.  So  I'm  goin'  to  stop 
at  Wiscasset  and  leave  it  at  the  bank  and  git 
'em  to  buy  me  some  gover'ment  bonds  or  some- 
thing. That  won't  bring  me  in  much;  but  it'll 
be  more'n  I'll  know  what  to  do  with.  Then  I 
got  to  see  Cynthy.  If  she  says  she'll  have  me, 
I  suppose  I'll  have  to  break  it  to  her  about  the 
money.  I  dun 'no  what  she's  goin'  to  say, 
either.  That's  what's  botherin'  me." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Jimmy,"  says  I,  givin'  him  a 
farewell  grip.  ' '  Like  the  cat  in  the  bird  store — 
you  should  worry!  " 

Pemaquid,  eh?  Say,  I'm  goin'  to  hire  a  guide 
in  Portland  and  discover  that  place  sometime. 
I'd  like  to  see  Uncle  Jimmy  again. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SCRATCH    ONE   ON   BULGAROO 

I'D  strolled  into  the  front  office  in  my  shirt 
sleeves,  and  was  leanin'  against  the  gym  door 
listenin'  to  Pinckney  and  his  friend  slangin' 
each  other — and,  believe  me,  it's  a  wonderful 
gift  to  be  able  to  throw  the  harpoon  refined  and 
polite  that  way! 

11  Larry,"  says  Pinckney,  lookin'  him  over 
reproachful,  "  you  are  hopeless.  You  merely 
cumber  the  earth." 

11  Having  made  an  art  of  being  useless,"  says 
Larry,  "  you  should  be  an  excellent  judge." 

"  You  think  you  flatter  me,"  says  Pinckney; 
11  but  you  don't.  I  live  my  life  as  it  comes. 
You  are  botching  yours." 

"  Hear,  hear!  "  says  Larry.  "  The  butterfly 
sermonizes!  ?; 

"  Insect  yourself!  "  says  Pinckney. 

"  My  word!  "  says  Larry.  "  Chucking 
entomology  at  me  too !  Well,  have  it  that  I'm  a 
grasshopper.  My  legs  are  long  enough." 

"  It's  your  ears  that  are  long,  Larry,"  says 
Pinckney. 

"  There  you  go,  mixing  the  metaphor!  "  says 
Larry.  "  So  I'm  an  ass,  eh?  " 

251 


252      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

4 '  The  word  strikes  me  as  beautifully  descrip- 
tive," says  Pinckney. 

"  Excuse  me,"  says  I,  breakin'  in,  "  but  is 
this  to  a  finish?  If  it  is,  I'll  send  out  for  some 
throat  troches." 

Larry  grins  and  settles  himself  back  easy  in 
my  desk  chair.  Great  lad,  this  Mr.  T.  Lawrence 
Bolan !  All  he  needs  is  a  cape  coat  and  a  sugar- 
loaf  hat  with  a  silver  buckle  to  be  a  stage  Irish- 
man. One  of  these  tall,  loose-hinged,  awkward- 
gaited  chaps,  with  wavy  red  hair  the  color  of  a 
new  copper  pan,  also  a  chin  dimple  and  a 
crooked  mouth.  By  rights  he  should  have  been 
homely.  Maybe  he  was  too ;  but  somehow,  with 
that  twisty  :smile  of  his  workin',  and  them 
gray-blue  eyes  twinklin'  at  you,  the  word 
couldn't  be  said. 

"  Look  at  him,  Shorty!  "  says  Pinckney. 
"  Six  feet  of  futile  clay;  a  waster  of  time, 
money,  and  opportunity." 

"  The  three  gifts  that  a  fool  tries  to  save 
and  a  wise  man  spends  with  a  free  hand, ' '  says 
Larry.  "  Give  me  a  cigarette." 

* '  How  much,  now,  did  you  lose  to  that  crowd 
of  bridge  sharks  last  night?  "  demands  Pinck- 
ney, passin'  over  a  gold  case. 

11  Not  my  self-respect,  anyway,"  says  Larry. 
"  Was  I  to  pass  cowardly  with  a  hundred  aces 
in  hand?  And  I  had  the  fun  of  making  that 
Boomer-Day  person  quit  bidding  on  eight 
hearts.  How  she  did  glare  as  she  doubled 
me!" 


"  Set  you  six  hundred,  I  hear,"  says  Pinck- 
ney.  "  At  a  quarter  the  point  that's  no  cheap 
fun." 

"  Who  asks  for  cheap  fun?  "  says  Larry. 
"  I  paid  the  shot,  didn't  I?  " 

11  And  now?  "  asks  Pinckney. 

Larry  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  The  usual 
thing,"  says  he;  "  only  it  happens  a  little  ear- 
lier in  the  month.  I'm  flat  broke,  of  course." 

"Then  why  in  the  name  of  all  folly  will,  you 
not  borrow  a  couple  of  hundred  from  me  I  ' '  de- 
mands Pinckney. 

"  Would  I  pay  it  back?  "  says  Larry.  "  No, 
I  would  not.  So  it  would  be  begging,  or  steal- 
ing? You  see  how  awkward  that  makes  it,  old 
chap?  " 

"  But,  deuce  take  it!  what  are  you  to  do  for 
the  next  three  weeks,  you  know?  "  insists 
Pinckney. 

"  Disappear,"  says  Larry,  wavin'  his  ciga- 
rette jaunty,  "  and  then — 

"  The  haunts  that  knew  him  once 
No  more  shall  know. 
The  halls  where  once  he  trod 
With  stately  tread — er — 
Tum-ti-iddity— - 
As  the  dead — 

or  words,  my  dear  Pinckney,  much  to  that  ef- 
fect. My  next  remittance  should  be  here  by  the 
third." 

"  When  you'll  reappear  and  do  it  all  over 
again,"  says  Pinckney. 


254      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  In  which  you're  quite  wrong,"  says  Larry. 
"  Not  that  I  am  bitten  by  remorse;  but  I  weary 
of  your  game.  It's  a  bit  stupid,  you  know, — 
your  mad  rushing  about  here  and  there,  plays, 
dinners,  dances,  week-ends.  You're  mostly  a 
good  sort;  but  you've  no  poise,  no  repose.  Kit- 
tens chasing  your  tails !  It  leaves  no  chance  to 
dream  dreams." 

"  Listen,"  says  Pinckney,  "  to  that  superior 
being,  the  lordly  Briton,  utter  his  usual  piffle! 
I  suppose  you'd  like  to  marry,  settle  down  on  a 
hundred-acre  estate  nine  miles  from  nowhere, 
and  do  the  country  gentleman?  ' 

"  It  would  be  the  making  of  me,"  says  Larry, 
"  and  I  could  be  reasonably  happy  at  it." 

"  Then  why  not  do  it!  "  demands  Pinckney. 

"On  a  thousand  pounds  a  year?  "  says 
Larry.  "Goto!" 

"  The  fact  remains,"  says  Pinckney,  "  that 
you  have  for  an  uncle  the  Earl  of  Kerrymull." 

"  And  that  I'm  his  best  hated  nephew,  paid 
to  keep  out  of  his  sight,"  comes  back  Larry. 

"  But  you  are  where  an  Earl-uncle  counts 
for  most,"  suggests  Pinckney.  "  By  judicious 
choice  of  a  father-in-law " 

"  Rot!  "  breaks  in  Larry.  "  Am  I  a  cheap 
adventurer  in  a  third-rate  melodrama  f  Waster 
I  may  be ;  but  no  dowry  hunter. ' ' 

"  As  though  you  could  not  like,  for  herself 
alone,  any  one  of  the  half-dozen  pretty  girls 
who  are  foolish  enough  to  be  crazy  over  you," 
says  Pinckney. 


SCRATCH  ONE  ON  BULGAROO   255 

"  As  though.  I'd  be  blighter  enough  to  let 
myself  fall  in  love  with  any  of  the  sweet 
dears!  "  says  Larry.  "I'm  in  my  thirties, 
Man." 

"  There's  widows  aplenty,"  hints  Pinckney. 

"Bless  'em  all!"  says  Larry.  "I'd  not 
load  one  of  them  with  aj  wild,  impecunious 
Irishman  like  myself." 

"  Then  what?  "  says  Pinckney.  "  Also 
where,  and  whither?  " 

"  Bulgaroo,"  says  Larry,  wavin'  vague  into 
space. 

"  Is  that  a  form  of  self -destruction?  "  asks 
Pinckney. 

"  Almost,"  says  Larry.  "  It's  the  nearest 
town  to  Sir  Horace  Vaughn's  No.  6  sheep 
ranch.  Quaint  little  spot,  Bulgaroo;  chiefly 
corrugated  iron  villas  and  kangaroo  scrub,  two 
hundred-odd  miles  back  from  Sidney.  I'm  due 
there  at  the  end  of  next  month." 

"  My  regards  to  the  Bulgaroovians,"  says  I. 

"  Is  this  just  a  whim  of  yours,  or  a  crazy 
plan?  "  says  Pinckney. 

"  Both,"  says  Larry.  "  No.  6  is  where  I 
went  to  do  penance  when  the  Earl  and  I  had  our 
grand  smashup.  Eighteen  months  I  put  in  be- 
fore he  settled  an  allowance  on  me.  They'll 
give  me  another  foreman's  job.  I'll  stay  three 
years  this  time,  saving  pay  and  remittance 
drafts,  and  at  the  end  I'll  have  hoarded  enough 
to  buy  an  interest,  or  a  ranch  of  my  own. 
That's  the  theory.  Actually,  I  shall  probably 


256      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

take  an  amazing  thirst  into  Bulgaroo  about 
once  a  month,  buy  vile  champagne  at  the 
Queen's  Arms,  and  otherwise  disport  myself 
like  a  true  sheepherder.  The  finis  will  not 
sound  pretty.'7 

Pinckney  stares  at  him  puzzled  for  a  minute, 
and  then  turns  to  me.  "  Shorty,"  says  he, 
"  you're  a  Celt.  What  do  you  make  of  him?  " 

"  My  guess  is  that  there's  a  skirt  in  the  back- 
ground, ' '  says  I. 

"  Oh-ho!  "  says  Pinckney. 

1 '  Touched  I  ' '  says  Larry. 

Pinckney  aims  the  cigarette  case  at  him,  re- 
markin'  savage,  "  The  story  or  your  life. 
Come,  now!  '; 

Larry  springs  that  wistful,  twisty  smile  of 
his  and  goes  on.  "  It  happened  here,  eight 
years  ago,  as  I  was  on  my  way  to  No.  6.  I'd 
picked  up  a  beastly  fever  somewhere,  and  I 
knew  not  a  soul  in  your  blessed  city.  So  I 
wabbled  into  a  hospital  and  let  them  tuck  me 
away  in  a  cot.  Now  grin,  blast  you!  Yes,  she 
was  one  of  the  day  nurses,  Katie  McDevitt.  No 
raving  beauty,  you  know.  Ah,  but  the  starry 
bright  eyes  of  her,  the  tender  touch  of  her  soft 
hand,  and  the  quick  wits  under  her  white  cap! 
It  wasn't  just  the  mushy  sentiment  of  a  con- 
valescent, either.  Three  grand  weeks  after- 
wards I  waited  around,  going  walks  with  her  in 
the  park,  taking  her  on  foolish  steamer  rides, 
sending  her  flowers,  notes,  candy.  We  were 
rare  spoons,  and  she  was  as  good  as  she  was. 


SCRATCH  ONE  ON  BULGAROO   257 

witty.  There  was  an  idyl  for  you!  Then,  when 
I  woke  up  one  day — why,  I  ran  away  without  a 
word !  What  else  could  I  do  ?  I  was  bound  for 
an  Australian  sheep  ranch.  And  there  I  went. 
Since  then  not  a  whisper  of  her.  By  now  it's 
quite  likely  she's  the  wife  of  some  lucky  dog 
of  a  doctor,  and  never  gives  me  a  thought.  So 
why  shouldn't  I  go  back!  " 

"  Because,  you  crack-brained  Irishman," 
says  Pinckney,  "  when  you're  not  maundering 
over  some  such  idiocy  as  this,  you're  the  most 
entertaining  good-for-nothing  that  ever  graced 
a  dinner  table  or  spread  the  joy  of  life  through 
a  dull  drawing  room.  Come  home  with  me  for 
the  week-end,  anyway." 

"  I'll  not,"  says  Larry.    "  I'm  a  pauper." 

"  Will  you  go  with  Shorty,  then?  "  says 
Pinckney.  "  At  times  he's  as  absurd  as  your- 
self." 

"  He's  not  asked  me,"  says  Larry. 

"  My  tongue's  drippin'  with  it,"  says  I.  "I 
had  an  own  cousin  come  over  from  Kerrymull. 
You'll  be  welcome." 

t  i  Done !  ' '  says  Larry.  ' '  And  for  board  and 
lodging  I'll  sing  you  Ballyshone  after  dinner." 

So  he  did  too,  and  if  you've  ever  heard  it  well 
sung,  you'll  know  the  lump  I  had  in  my  throat 
as  I  listened.  Also  I  had  him  tell  Sadie  about 
Katie  McDevitt;  and  when  he'd  made  friends 
with  little  Sully  and  the  dog  we  could  have  kept 
him  for  a  year  and  a  day. 

But  that  Sunday  afternoon,  while  we  was 


SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

swingin'  out  of  the  front  gates  for  a  walk,  we 
stops  to  let  a  limousine  whizz  by,  and  we  gets  a 
glimpse  of  a  woman's  face  through  the  win- 
dows. 

"Lord  love  you,  McCabe!  '  says  Larry, 
grippin'  me  by  the  arm,  "  but  who  was  that?  " 

"  In  the  car?  "  says  I.  "  No  one  but  Mrs. 
Sam  Steele." 

"  Mrs.,  did  you  say?  "  says  he. 

"  The  rich  widow,"  says  I,  "  that  lives  in 
the  big  house  over  on  the  Shore  Drive."  I 
pointed  it  out. 

"A  widow!"  says  he.  ''Thanks  be! 
Shorty,  she's  the  one!  r 

"  Not  your  Miss  McDevitt?  "  says  I. 

"  No  other,"  says  he.    "I'd  swear  it!  " 

"  Then  you're  nutty  in  the  head,  Mr.  Larry 
Bolan,"  says  I;  "  for  I've  known  her  these  two 
years,  and  never  heard  of  her  being  an  ex- 
nurse." 

"  She  might  not  care  to  boast  of  it,"  says  he. 
"  Rich,  did  you  say?  " 

"  Near  a  million,  they  say,"  says  I;  "  which 
don't  fit  in  with  the  nurse  idea,  does  it?  " 

"  I  couldn't  mistake  Katie  McDevitt,"  says 
he,  waggin'  his  head  mulish.  "  But  who  was 
this  Steele  beggar?  " 

"  She  moved  here  after  plantin'  him  West 
somewhere,"  says  I.  "  One  of  the  big  lumber 
crowd,  I've  heard.  Sadie  can  tell  you  more." 

"  Thanks,"  says  he;  "  but  I'll  have  it  from 
Katie  herself.  Take  me  there." 


SCRATCH  ONE  ON  BULGAROO   259 


<  t 


Eh?  "  says  I.  "  On  a  chance  shot?  I'd 
look  well,  wouldn't  I?  " 

1 '  But  you  must, ' '  says  he.    ' '  Now !  ' ' 

"  Come  off !  "  says  I.  "  You  with  only  a 
glance  at  her!  Besides,  she's  one  of  these  stiff, 
distant  parties  that  keeps  to  herself." 

"  McCabe,"  says  he,  "I  mean  to  talk  with 
her  within  the  hour  if  I  have  to  smash  in  her 
front  door  and  wring  a  butler's  neck." 

There 's  a  thrill  in  his  voice  as  he  says  it,  and 
from  all  I  know  of  Larry  Bolan  there's  no 
stoppin'  him.  We  started  off. 

The  nearer  we  got  to  the  big  house,  though, 
the  battier  the  enterprise  seemed  to  me.  First 
off,  I'd  been  nursin'  a  dislike  for  Mrs.  Steele 
ever  since  I'd  overheard  a  little  seance  between 
her  and  one  of  the  outside  men.  She'd  caught 
him  smugglin'  home  a  few  measly  vegetables 
from  her  big  garden,  and  after  tongue  lashin' 
him  lively  she  fires  him  on  the  spot — him  a 
poor  Dago  with  a  big  fam'ly.  Then  there 'd 
been  tales  told  by  the  butcher,  the  plumber,  and 
half  a  dozen  others,  all  goin'  to  show  she  was 
a  lady  tightwad,  or  worse. 

So  I'd  sized  her  up  as  a  cold,  hard  proposi- 
tion. And  when  I  work  up  feelin's  like  that 
I'm  apt  to  show  'em.  I  couldn't  help  thinkin' 
but  maybe  I  had.  Here  I  was,  though,  cartin' 
a  strange  gent  up  to  her  front  door,  on  his  guess 
that  he's  her  long  lost  Romeo. 

11  Ah,  be  good,  Larry!  "  says  I.  "  Let's  call 
it  off." 


260      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

He  shakes  his  head  stubborn. 

"  All  right,"  says  I;  "  but  take  it  from  me 
we're  about  to  pull  down  trouble.  What's  the 
plan?  " 

He  thinks,  as  long  as  I  know  the  lady,  I'd  bet- 
ter send  in  my  name  and  then  break  it  to  her 
easy.  So,  while  I'm  waitin'  in  the  reception 
hall,  he  kicks  his  heels  impatient  against  the 
veranda  rail  outside. 

Bather  a  classy  lopkin'  party,  Mrs.  Steele  is 
as  she  shows  up  in  a  stunnin'  house  gown, — 
good  lines,  fine  complexion,  and  all  that.  Takes 
mighty  good  care  of  herself,  so  Sadie  says,  with 
two  French  maids  to  help.  She  don't  stint  her- 
self that  way.  And  the  little  streak  of  early 
gray  through  her  front  hair  gives  her  sort  of  a 
distinguished  look.  There's  nothin'  friendly, 
though,  about  the  straight,  tight-lipped  mouth, 
or  the  surprised  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  dis- 
covers me  standin'  there. 

"  Mr.  McCabe?  "  says  she. 

"  You  see,"  says  I,  grinnin'  foolish,  "  there's 
a  chap  outside  who — who  has  a  batty  idea  he 
used  to  know  you." 

"  Really?  "  says  she,  narrowin'  her  eyes  a 
bit. 

"  Bolan's  the  name,  Ma'am,"  I  goes  on, 
"  Larry  Bolan." 

It  wa.'n't  much, — just  a  quiver,  a  little 
lift  of  the  shoulders,  a  bunchin'  of  the  fingers. 
Then  she  bites  her  lip  and  gets  a  grip  on  her- 
self. "  Well?  "  says  she.  "  What  of  it?  " 


SCRATCH  ONE  ON  BULGAROO  261 

"  Why,"  says  I,  "  he — he  wants  to  have  a 
talk  with  you.  Course,  though,  if  you  don't 
know  him,  or  don't  remember,  all  you  got  to 
do " 

* '  Yes,  yes !  ' '  she  breaks  in.  "I  understand. 
Wait!  "  * 

A  couple  of  minutes  she  stands  there,  never 
makin'  a  crack  or  givin'  any  sign,  except  that 
the  toe  of  one  slipper  taps  the  rug  restless. 
Then  she  gives  her  decision.  ' '  You  may  bring 
him  in,"  says  she. 

"  How  about  sendin'  him!  "  I  suggests. 

"  No,  not  alone,"  says  she.  "  I  want  you  to 
stay. ' ' 

So  I  steps  to  the  door.  "  LarKy,"  says  I, 
"  you're  called  on  the  carpet;  but  for  the 
love  of  soup  don't  pull  any  of  that  old 
sweetheart  stuff  reckless!  The  signs  ain't 
right." 

And  a  fat  lot  of  notice  he  takes  of  my  advice. 
Trust  Larry !  He  pushes  in  eager  ahead  of  me, 
marches  straight  to  where  she  is,  gives  her  one 
mushy,  admirin'  look,  and  the  next  thing  I 
know  he  has  reached  for  one  of  her  hands  and  is 
kissin'  it  as  graceful  and  romantic  as  James  K. 
Hackett  doin'  a  Zenda  stunt. 

Gave  Mrs.  Steele  some  jolt,  that  play  did ;  for 
it's  plain  she  was  fixin'  to  frost  him  at  the  start. 
But  it's  all  over  before  she  has  time  to  draw  a 
breath,  and  he  has  let  her  fingers  slip  through 
his  caressin'. 

"  Katie!"  says  he. 


262      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

She  flushes  and  stiffens  up.  ' '  Silly  as  ever,  I 
see,"  says  she. 

"  More  so,"  says  he.  "  But  it's  only  seeing 
you  again  that  brings  on  the  attack.  Katie, 
you're  glorious!  " 

"Please!"  says  she,  protestin'.  "  I've 
rather  outgrown  my  liking  for  sentimental 
speeches.  Tell  me,  why  do  you  hunt  me  up  like 
this,  after  so  long?  ' 

"  Can  you  ask?  "  says  he.  "  Look!  No — 
in  my  eyes,  Katie." 

And,  say,  with  things  gettin'  that  gummy,  I 
was  beginnin'  to  feel  like  a  cold  boiled  potato 
served  accidental  with  the  pie. 

"  Excuse  me,"  says  I,  "  but  maybe  I'd  better 
wait  in  the  next  room." 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  Mrs.  Steele,  real  crisp 
and  businesslike.  "  It  will  be  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, while  Mr.  Bolan  states  very  briefly  his 
exact  purpose  in  coming  here." 

Larry  bows.  "  To  see  once  more  the  girl  he 
could  not  forget,"  says  he. 

"  Humph!  "  says  she,  curlin'  her  upper  lip. 
"  Very  pretty,  I  suppose.  But  let  me  assure 
you  that  foolish  young  person  ceased  to  exist 
several  years  ago." 

"  She  lives  for  me — here,"  says  Larry, 
placin'  one  hand  on  his  left  vest  pocket. 

Mrs.  Steele  indulges  in  a  thin  little  cold- 
storage  laugh  that  sounds  almost  as  pleasant 
as  tappin'  a  gas  pipe.  "What  a  sudden  re- 
vival of  an  old,  worn-out  affection!  "  says 


SCRATCH  ONE  ON  BULGAROO  263 

she.  "  When  did  you  first  hear  I  was  a 
widow?  " 

"Less  than  an  hour  ago,"  says  Larry. 

"  Did  they  say  I  was  rich,  or  poor?  "  she 
goes  on  sarcastic. 

"  Katie!  "  says  he  gaspy.  "  Surely  you — 
you  can't  think " 

"  It's  what  I  ask  them  all,"  says  she,  "  do- 
mestic and  imported.  Naturally  I  am  a  little 
suspicious  when  they  declare  passionate  love  at 
the  first  or  second  meeting;  for,  in  spite  of  what 
my  maids  tell  me,  my  mirror  insists  that  I'm 
not  ravishingly  beautiful.  So  I've  begun  to 
suspect  that  perhaps  my  money  may  be  the  at- 
traction. And  I'm  not  in  the  market  for  a 
husband,  you  know." 

"  Bing-g-g!  "  says  I  under  my  breath. 

As  for  Larry  Bolan,  it  leaves  him  with  his 
chin  down.  For,  after  all,  he  ain't  one  of  your 
walrus-hided  gents.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he's 
as  sensitive  as  they  come,  and  she  couldn't  have 
handed  it  out  rougher. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  says  he,  "  you  are  pleased 
to  be  cruel.  Perhaps,  though,  it's  only  my  due. 
I  admit  that  I'm  only  a  poor  pensioner  posing 
as  a  gentleman.  But  within  a  month  I  shall  be 
on  my  way  to  bury  myself  on  the  other  side  of 
the  world.  Meanwhile,  I  see  you  pass.  Could 
I  help  wanting  a  few  kind  words  of  yours  to 
take  with  me?  " 

"  If  that  is  really  all,  Mr.  Bolan,"  says  she, 
"  I  would  advise  you  to  outlive  your  nonsense, 


264      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

as  I've  outlived  mine.  Try  paying  your  tailor 
with  kind  words." 

"  Katie,"  says  he,  with  a  sob  in  his  voice, 
"  you — you've  broken  the  heart  of  me.  Come, 
McCabe,  we  will  go. ' ' 

She  stands  watchin'  us,  smilin'  cynical,  until 
we  're  almost  through  the  door ;  and  then — well, 
it's  a  sigh  that  comes  out  explosive.  She 
starts  as  if  she  meant  to  dash  after  us,  and  then 
stops  with  her  arms  out. 

"  Larry!  "  says  she,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

It  pulls  him  up,  and  he  stares  at  her  a  minute 
over  his  shoulder.  "  It's  no  use,  Katie,"  says 
he.  "  What's  turned  you  hard  and  cold  I  don't 
know;  but  you  can't  unsay  what's  been  said. 
And  it  hurt — bitter. ' ' 

1 '  Oh,  I  know,  I  know !  ' '  says  she.  ' '  But  you 
must  hear  what  it  was  that  changed  me  from 
the  girl  you  knew.  Money,  Larry,  the  money 
for  which  I  married.  As  for  the  man — oh,  I 
suppose  he  was  no  worse  than  the  rest;  only  he 
taught  me  to  love  a  dollar  more  than  anything 
else  in  earth  or  heaven.  He'd  wrung  all  of  his 
from  a  grudging  world  with  his  bare  hands, — 
starved  and  slaved  and  plotted  for  it,  in  mean 
ways,  against  mean  men ;  then  fought  to  hold  it. 
And  he  knew  to  a  penny's  worth  what  every 
dollar  he  spent  should  buy  for  him.  Among 
other  things,  he  bought  me.  Sixty-odd  he  was ; 
I  barely  twenty.  Why  call  it  differently?  I 
was  fool  enough,  too,  to  think  I  was  a  lucky 
girl.  Ah,  what  a  fool !  Seven  years  of  fear  and 


SCEATCH  ONE  ON  BULGAROO   265 

hate !  It's  an  awful  thing,  Larry,  to  live  so  long 
with  hate  in  you  for  one  at  your  side.  But  he — 
he  never  knew." 

She  leaves  off,  squeezin'  one  hand  in  the 
other  until  the  ends  of  the  fingers  went  white, 
her  chest  heavin',  her  eyes  stary.  Larry 
watches  her  without  a  word. 

"  Tell  me,"  says  she  after  a  bit,  "  why  you 
ran  away  that  time  and  left  me  to — to  make 
such  a  mess  of  things.  Why?  " 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  I'm  going  away 
again  now,"  says  he.  "  I've  a  thousand  pounds 
a  year,  and  not  sense  enough  to  keep  myself  on 
it,  let  alone  a  wife.  So  it's  good-by,  Katie." 

Then  the  weeps  came,  open  eyed;  but  she 
didn't  try  to  hide  'em.  "  Oh,  oh!  "  she  moans. 
"  But  I  was  so  lonely  then,  and — and  I'm  so 
lonely  now!  " 

Them  few  drops  of  brine  turned  the  trick. 
"  Ah,  Katie  McDevitt!  "  says  he.  "  If  I  could 
bring  back  the  old  Katie!  By  the  soul  of  me, 
but  I  will?  You  never  heard  of  my  old  uncle, 
did  you?  Come  with  me  to  him,  and  see  me 
make  it  up;  for  I  can't  leave  you  this  way, 
Katie,  I  just  can't!  " 

"  Larry!  "  says  she,  and  with  that  they  goes 
to  a  fond  clinch. 

*  *  Help  t ' '  says  I,  and  slides  through  the 
door. 

When  I  gets  home  Sadie  wants  to  know  what 
I've  done  with  Mr.  Bolan. 

"  Towed  him  up  to  Hymen's  gate,"  says  I, 


266      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  and  left  him  bein'  yanked  through  by  Mrs. 
Sam  Steele." 

"  Wha-a-at?  "  says  she.    "  Of  all  persons!  • 
And  when  did  that  start,  I'd  like  to  know?  " 

"  Eight  years  back,"  says  I.  "  She  was 
Katie  the  nurse,  and  this  is  their  second  act. 
Anyway,  he  ducks  Bulgaroo  by  it." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BAYAKD  DUCKS   HIS  PAST 

FEBST  place,  Swifty  Joe  should  have  let  the 
subject  drop.  Anyway,  he  needn't  have  come 
paradin'  into  the  front  office  in  his  gym  suit  to 
show  me  his  nutty  theory  of  how  Young  Disko 
landed  that  knockout  on  the  Australian  in  the 
breakaway. 

"  Turn  over!  "  says  I.  "  You're  on  your 
back!  He  couldn't  have  done  anything  of  the 
kind." 

"  Couldn't,  eh!  "  growls  Swifty.  "  Ahr-r-r-r 
chee!  Couldn't  give  him  the  shoulder  on  the 
jaw!  Ain't  I  seen  it  done?  Say,  lemme  show 
you " 

"  Show  nothing!  "  says  I.  "I'm  tellin'  you 
it  was  a  right  hook  the  kid  put  him  out  with, 
from  chancery.  Now  see!  " 

With  that  I  sheds  my  coat,  gets  Swifty 's  neck 
in  the  crook  of  my  left  elbow,  swings  him 
round  for  a  side  hip-lock,  and  bends  his  head 
forward. 

"  Now,  you  South  Brooklyn  kike,"  I  goes  on, 
maybe  more  realistic  than  I  meant,  ' '  I  got  you 
right,  ain't  I?  And  all  I  got  to  do  is  push  in  a 
half-arm  jolt  like  this,  and " 

267 


268      SHOKTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Well,  then  I  looks  up.  Neither  of  us  has 
noticed  her  come  in,  hadn't  even  heard  the  knob 
turn;  but  standin'  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  and  starin'  straight  at  us  is  a  perfectly 
good  female  lady. 

That  don't  half  tell  it,  either.  She's  all  lady, 
from  the  tips  of  her  double-A  pumps  to  the  lit- 
tle gray  wing  peekin'  over  the  top  of  her  dingy 
gray  bonnet.  One  of  these  slim,  dainty,  grace- 
ful built  parties,  with  white,  lacy  stuff  at  her 
wrists  and  throat,  and  the  rest  of  her  costume 
all  gray:  not  the  puckered-waist,  half-masted 
skirt  effects  all  the  women  are  wearin'  now.  I 
can't  say  what  year's  model  it  was,  or  how  far 
back;  but  it's  a  style  that  seems  just  fitted  to 
her:  maybe  one  that  she's  invented  herself. 
Around  thirty-five,  I  should  judge  she  was,  from 
the  little  streak  of  gray  runnin'  through  her 
front  hair. 

What  got  me,  though,  was  the  calm,  remote, 
superior  look  that  she's  givin'  us.  She  don't 
seem  nervous  or  panicky  at  all,  like  most 
women  would,  breakin'  in  on  a  roughhouse 
scene  like  that.  She  don't  even  stare  reprovin', 
but  stands  there  watchin'  us  as  serene  as  if  we 
wa'n't  anything  more'n  pictures  on  a  movie 
sheet.  And  there  we  was,  holdin'  the  pose;  me 
with  my  right  all  bunched  for  action,  and  Swif ty 
with  his  face  to  the  mat.  Seemed  minutes  we 
was  clinched  there,  and  everything  so  still  you 
could  hear  Swifty's  heavy  breathin'  all  over 
the  room. 


BAYARD  DUCKS  HIS  PAST   269 

Course  I  was  waitin'  for  some  remarks  from 
her.  You'd  most  think  they  was  due,  wouldn't 
you?  It's  my  private  office,  remember,  and 
she's  sort  of  crashed  in  unannounced.  If  any 
explainin'  was  done,  it  was  up  to  her  to  start  it. 
And  waitin'  for  what  don't  come  is  apt  to  get 
on  your  nerves. 

"  Eh?  "  I  throws  over  my  shoulder  at  her. 

Her  straight  eyebrows  kind  of  humps  in  the 
middle — that's  all. 

"  Did  you  say  anything?  "  I  goes  on. 

"  No,"  says  she.  If  she'd  smiled  sort  of 
faint,  or  even  glared  stern  at  us,  it  wouldn't 
have  been  so  bad.  But  she  just  presses  her 
lips  together — thin,  narrow-gage  lips,  they  was 
— and  goes  on  givin'  us  that  distant,  uncon- 
cerned look. 

Meanwhile  Swifty,  with  his  face  bent  towards 
the  floor,  ain't  gettin'  any  view  at  all,  and  is 
only  guessin'  what's  happenin'.  He  squirms 
impatient. 

"  Say,  Shorty,"  he  grumbles,  "  I  got  a  few 
bones  in  me  neck,  remember.  Break,  can't 
you?  " 

And  as  I  loosens  my  hold  he  straightens  up, 
only  to  get  the  full  benefit  of  that  placid,  lady- 
like lookover. 

"  Ahr-r-r  chee!  "  says  he,  glancin'  disgusted 
at  me.  Then  he  starts  gettin'  rosy  in  the  ears, 
like  he  always  does  when  there's  fluffs  around, 
and  after  one  more  hasty  look  he  bolts  back 
into  the  gym. 


270      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

The  strange  lady  watches  this  move  like  she 
has  everything  else,  only  she  shrugs  her  shoul- 
ders a  bit.  What  she  meant  by  that  I  couldn't 
make  out.  I  was  gettin'  to  the  point  where  I 
didn't  care  so  much,  either. 

"Well,  Ma'am?  "  says  I. 

"  Poor  fellow!  "  says  she.  "  I  am  glad  he 
escaped  that  brutal  blow." 

"  Are  you?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  don't  waste  too 
much  sympathy  on  him;  for  I  was  only  demon- 
stratin'  how " 

' '  You  might  offer  me  a  chair, ' '  she  breaks  in 
sort  of  casual. 

"Why — er — sure!"  says  I,  and  before  I 
knew  it  I  was  jumpin'  to  drag  one  up. 

She  settles  into  it  without  even  a  nod  of 
thanks. 

"  You  see,"  I  goes  on,  "  he's  my  assistant, 
and  I  was  tryin'  to  show  him  how " 

"  It's  rather  stuffy  here,"  observes  the  lady. 
"  Couldn't  you  open  a  window?  "  / 

It's  more  an  order  than  anything  else;  but  I 
hops  over  and  shoves  the  sash  wide  open. 

."  That's  too  much,"  says  she.  "  It  causes 
a  draft." 

So  I  shuts  it  halfway.  Then  I  gets  her  a 
glass  of  water.  "  Anything  else  you'd  like?  " 
says  I,  tryin'  to  be  sarcastic.  "  The  mornin' 
paper,  or " 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Steele?  "  "she  demands. 

"  Oh!  "  says  I,  gettin'  a  little  light  on  the 
mystery.  "  J.  Bayard,  you  mean?  " 


BAYARD  DUCKS  HIS  PAST        271 


<  t 


Of  course,"  says  she.  "  He  was  not  at 
his  hotel,  and  as  this  was  the  other  address  I 
was  given  I  expected  to  find  him  here. ' ' 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Gave  you  this  number, 
did  he?  Well,  you  see,  this  is  my  Physical  Cul- 
ture Studio,  and  while  he's  apt  to  be  here  off 
and  on,  it  ain't  his " 

"  Just  such  a  place  as  I  might  have  antici- 
pated finding  Bayard  in,"  says  she,  glancin' 
around  the  front  office  at  the  portraits  in  ring 
costume  and  so  on.  ' (  Quite !  ' ' 

"  Let's  see,"  says  I,  "  you  are — er " 

11  I  am  Mrs.  Lee  Hollister,"  says  she,  "  of 
Richmond,  Virginyah." 

"  I  might  have  suspicioned  that  last,"  says  I, 
"  by  the  way  you " 

But  she  don't  give  me  a  show  to  register  any 
little  slam  I  might  have  thought  of  puttin' 
over.  She's  the  kind  that  conducts  a  conversa- 
tion accordin'  to  her  own  rules,  and  she  never 
hesitates  to  cut  in. 

•"  I  want  to  know  what  there  is  about  this 
will  of  Mr.  Gordon's,"  she  demands.  "  Some 
absurd  legacy,  I  presume ;  at  least,  my  solicitor, 
Colonel  Henderson,  seemed  to  think  so.  I  sup- 
pose you've  heard  of  Colonel  Britt  Hender- 
son? " 

"  Not  a  whisper,"  says  I,  as  defiant  as  I 
know  how. 

She  expresses  her  opinion  of  such  ignorance 
with  a  little  li ft  of  her  pointed  chin.  ' '  Colonel 
Henderson,"  she  goes  on,  "  is  perhaps  the 


272      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

ablest  and  most  brilliant  attorney  in  Virginyah. 
He  is  connected  with  the  best  families  in  the 
State." 

"  Never  heard  of  anybody  from  down  there 
that  wa'n't,"  says  I.  "  And  while  I  ain't  dis- 
putin'  him,  mind  you,  his  guess  about  this  bein' 
a  legacy  is " 

"Will  Mr.  Steele  be  in  soon?"  she  asks 
crisp. 

"  Might,"  says  I,  "  and  then  again  he 
mightn't." 

"  It's  rather  rude  of  him  to  keep  me  wait- 
ing," says  she. 

"  Maybe  if  you'd  sent  word  ahead,"  I  sug- 
gests, "  he'd  been  on  hand.  But  now  you've 
come  all  this  way " 

"  You  don't  suppose,"  breaks  in  Mrs.  Hoi- 
lister,  "  that  I  came  north  just  for  that?  Not 
at  all.  It  was  to  select  a  design  for  the  me- 
morial window  I  am  having  placed  in  our 
church,  in  memory  of  poor,  dear  Professor 
Hollister.  My  late  husband,  you  know;  and  a 
most  noble,  talented,  courtly  gentleman  he  was 
too." 

"  Ye-e-es'm,"  says  I. 

"  What  are  those  objects  on  the  wall?  "  says 
she,  shiftin'  sudden. 

"  Boxin'  gloves,  Ma'am,"  says  I.  "  That's 
the  pair  of  mitts  that  won  me  the  champion- 
ship, back  in " 

"  Has  Mr.  Steele  become  a  pugilist,  too?  " 
she  asks. 


BAYAED  DUCKS  HIS  PAST       273 

11  Not  so  you'd  notice  it,"  says  I. 

"  Hm-m-m-m !  "  says  she,  tappin'  the  toe  of 
one  of  her  pumps  and  gazin'  around  critical. 

Not  that  she  takes  any  notice  of  me.  Honest, 
if  I'd  been  a  yellow  pup  tied  in  the  corner, 
she  couldn't  have  been  more  offhand.  I  was 
gettin'  warm  in  the  neck  by  the  minute  too,  and 
in  three  more  shakes  I'd  been  cuttin'  loose  with 
the  acid  remarks,  when  the  door  opens  and  in 
blows  J.  Bayard  Steele.  I  sighs  relieved  when 
I  sees  Mm  too. 

"  Oh!  "  says  he,  gettin'  a  back  view  of  her. 

"  I  beg  pardon.  I — er "  Then  she  turns 

and  faces  him.  * '  Alice !  "  he  gasps. 

"  My  dear  Bayard!  "  she  protests.  "  Please 
let's  not  have  any  scene.  It  was  all  so  long  ago, 
and  I'm  sure  you  must  have  gotten  over  that." 

"  But  how — why — er "  he  goes  on. 

11  You  wrote  to  Mrs.  Lee  Hollister,  didn't 
you?  "  she  demands.  "  I  am  Mrs.  Hollister." 

Another  gasp  from  Steele.  "  You?  "  says 
he.  "  Then  you — you " 

"To  be  sure  I  married,"  says  she.  "  And 
Professor  Hollister  was  one  of  the  truest, 
noblest  Southern  gentlemen  who  ever  lived.  I 
have  mourned  his  loss  for  nearly  ten  years, 

and But  don't  stand  there  twiddling 

your  hat  in  that  absurd  fashion!  You  may 
sit,  if  you  like.  Get  Mr.  Steele  a  chair,  will 
you?  " 

I'd  jumped  and  done  it  too,  before  I  had  time 
to  think. 


274      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Now  what  is  this  about  Mr.  Gordon's 
will?  "  says  she. 

Well,  between  us,  whenever  she'd  let  us  get 
in  a  word,  we  managed  to  sketch  out  the  idea. 

"  You  see,"  says  Steele,  "  Pyramid  Gordon 
wished  to  make  what  reparation  he  could  for 
any  injustice  he  might  have  done  during  the 
course  of  his  business  career.  He  left  a  list  of 
names,  among  them  being  this,  *  the  widow  of 
Professor  Lee  Hollister.'  Now  possibly  Gor- 
don, in  some  way " 

"  He  did,"  breaks  in  Mrs.  Hollister.  "  My 
husband  had  issued  an  elaborate  and  exhaustive 
geological  report  on  a  certain  district.  It  had 
attracted  wide  attention.  He  was  to  have  been 
appointed  State  Geologist,  when  suddenly  this 
Mr.  Gordon  appeared  and  began  his  unwar- 
ranted campaign  of  abuse  and  opposition. 
Something  about  some  coal  and  iron  deposits, 
I  believe  it  was,  on  land  which  he  was  trying 
to  sell  to  an  English  syndicate.  Professor  Hoi- 
lister's  report  failed  to  mention  any  such  de- 
posits. As  a  matter  of  fact  they  did  not  exist. 
But  Mr.  Gordon  summoned  experts  of  his  own, 
who  attacked  my  husband's  statements.  The 
professor  declined  to  enter  into  a  public  con- 
troversy. His  dignity  would  not  permit  him. 
Underhanded  influence  was  brought  to  bear  on 
the  Governor,  and  the  appointment  was  given 
to  another.  But  time  has  shown.  Discredited 
and  beaten  though  he  seemed  to  be,  my  husband 
was  right.  The  Gordon  lands  proved  valueless. 


BAYAED  DUCKS  HIS  PAST   275 

Those  in  which  Professor  Hollister  invested  his 
savings  were  rich  in  minerals." 

"  Ah!  "  says  Steele.  "  Quite  like  Pyramid. 
And  it  has  been  left  to  us,  Mrs.  Hollister,  to 
recompense,  if  we  may,  the  bitterness  of 
that-—" 

"  Please!  "  says  the  lady.  "  Professor  Hol- 
lister was  not  an  embittered  man.  Such  meth- 
ods were  beneath  his  contempt.  He  merely 
withdrew  from  public  life.  As  for  recompense 
— surely  you  would  not  think  of  asking  me  to 
accept  it  from  such  a  source !  Never !  Besides, 
I  have  more  than  enough.  Several  years  ago  I 
disposed  of  our  mineral  holdings,  bought  back 
the  old  Hollister  mansion,  and  I  am  now  living 
there  in  as  much  comfort  as  poor  Lee  could 
have  wished  me  to  enjoy.  What  could  Gor- 
don's money  add  to  that?  " 

If  I'd  been  J.  Bayard,  hanged  if  I  wouldn't 
called  it  quits  right  there!  But  he's  gettin'  so 
chesty  over  this  job  of  sunshine  distributer 
that  there's  no  holdin'  him  in. 

"  Surely,  Alice,"  he  insists,  "  there  must  be 
some  way  in  which  I,  as — er — an  old  friend, 
might " 

Mrs.  Hollister  cuts  him  off  with  a  wave  of 
her  hand.  "  You  don't  understand,"  says  she. 
"  I  am  no  longer  the  vain,  frivolous  young  girl 
whom  you  knew  that  winter  in  Chicago.  My 
first  season,  that  was.  I  was  being  lavishly  en- 
tertained. I  suppose  I  became  dazzled  by  it 
all, — the  attention,  the  new  scenes,  the  many 


276      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

men  I  met.  I've  no  doubt  I  behaved  very  silly. 
But  now — well,  I  have  realized  all  my  social 
ambitions.  Now  I  am  devoting  my  life  to  the 
memory  of  my  sainted  husband,  to  charity,  to 
our  dear  church." 

I  gawps  curious  over  at  J.  Bayard  to  see  what 
comeback  he  has  to  this  dose  of  mush,  and  finds 
him  starin'  foolish  at  her. 

II  There  is  only  one  thing "  she  begins. 

11  Yes?  "  says  Steele,  kind  of  faint.  "  Some- 
thing in  which  we  might " 

"  I  am  interested  in  a  group  of  girls,"  says 
she,  "  factory  girls;  one  of  our  Guild  Mission 
classes,  you  know.  They  have  been  anxious  to 
have  some  dances.  Now  I  am  strongly  opposed 
to  the  modern  dances,  all  of  them.  True,  I've 
seen  very  little,  almost  nothing.  So  I  decided 
that,  in  order  to  convince  myself  that  I  am  right, 
I  might  as  well,  while  I  am  in  New  York — 
well — er " 

' '  I  get  you, ' '  I  puts  in.  ' '  You  want  to  watch 
the  real  thing  pulled — the  fox  trot,  and  the  new 
polkas,  and  so  on.  Eh?  " 

"  Not  for  my  own  personal  amusement,"  cor- 
rects Mrs.  Hollister.  "  I  am  sure  I  shall  be 
bored,  perhaps  shocked ;  but  then  I  shall  be  bet- 
ter able  to  warn  my  girls. ' ' 

"The  old  gag!"  says  I.  "I  know  what 
would  fit  your  case, — a  late  dinner  at  the 
Maison  Maxixe.  Eh,  Steele?  "  and  I  tips  him 
the  knowin'  wink. 

"  Why — er — yes,"  says  J.  Bayard.    "  I  pre- 


BAYAED  DUCKS  HIS  PAST   277 

sume  Mr.  McCabe  is  correct.  And  I  am  sure 
we  should  be  delighted  to  have  Mrs.  Hollister 
as  our  guest." 

1 '  We !  "  I  gasps  under  my  breath.  Say,  the 
nerve  of  him!  But  before  I  can  think  up  any 
previous  date  the  lady  has  accepted. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  place,"  says  she.  "  I 
am  quite  willing  to  endure  an  evening  there.  I 
am  wondering,  though,  if  I  should  not  be  rather 
conspicuous.  You  see,  I  brought  with  me  none 
but  simple  gowns  such  as  this,  and  perhaps  the 
contrast " 

"  You'd  be  about  as  prominent  at  the  Maxixe 
in  that  outfit,"  says  I,  "  as  a  one-legged  albino 
at  a  coon  cakewalk.  Besides,  they  don't  let  you 
in  there  unless  you're  in  full  evenin'.  Course, 
there's  other  joints  where " 

"  No,"  says  she.  "  Let  it  be  the  Maison 
Maxixe,  if  that  is  the  worst.  And  for  once  too 
I  may  as  well  submit  myself  to  the  horrors  of 
the  new  fashions.  I  will  order  a  costume  to- 
day, and  I  can  be  ready  for  my  plunge  into 
Gotham  vanities  by — let  me  see — we  will  say 
Saturday  night.  I  am  at  the  Lady  Louise. 
You  may  call  for  me  there  about  eight.  Good- 
by.  Don't  be  late,  Gentlemen."  And  with  that 
she  does  the  abrupt  flit,  leavin'  us  gawpin'  at 
each  other  stupid. 

"  Much  obliged,  Steele,"  says  I,  "  for  ringin' 
me  in  on  this  nutty  reunion  of  yours.  Say,  J.  B., 
you  got  a  head  like  a  tack,  you  have !  Have  a 
heart,  can't  you?  " 


"  My  dear  Shorty,"  says  he,  "  permit  me  to 
point  out  that  it  was  you  who  suggested  taking 
her  to " 

"  Because  you  was  sittin'  there  like  a  gump," 
says  I.  "  Only  helpin'  you  out,  that's  all.  And 
I'm  goin'  to  look  nice,  ain't  I,  trailin'  into  a 
place  like  that  with  you  and  this — say,  just 
where  does  the  lady  fit  into  your  past,  anyway? 
Never  heard  you  mention  her,  did  II  " 

"  Naturally  not,"  says  he.  "  One  doesn't 
boast  of  having  been  thrown  over." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I.  "  You  was  engaged — to 
her?  " 

He  nods  and  gazes  sentimental  at  the  ceilin'. 
"  My  one  genuine  romance,"  says  he.  "  I  sup- 
pose she  wasn't  really  the  radiant  beauty  I 
imagined;  but  she  was  charming,  vivacious, 
fascinating.  It  was  a  bad  case  of  love  at  first 
sight.  At  eleven  o  'clock  that  evening,  I  remem- 
ber, I  took  her  in  to  supper.  At  twelve  I  was 
leading  her  into  a  palm-sheltered  nook,  and 
the  next  thing  I  knew  I  had  taken  her  in  my 
arms  and — well,  the  usual  thing.  No  one  could 
have  made  a  more  complete  ass  of  himself.  She 
should  have  boxed  my  ears.  She  didn't.  The 
engagement  lasted  all  of  one  week." 

11  Then   you   recovered  from  the  attack?  ' 
says  I. 

"  No,"  says  he.  "  She  had  discovered  an- 
other, several  others.  She  told  me  quite 
casually  that  she  really  hadn't  meant  it;  and 
wasn't  I,  after  all,  rather  a  wild  young  man?  I 


BAYAED  DUCKS  HIS  PAST       279 

assured  her  that  if  I  wasn't  wild  I  should  be 
after  that.  She  only  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
So  I  gave  her  up.  The  others  did  too.  And 
she  went  back  to  Richmond,  it  seems,  and  mar- 
ried a  sainted  geologist;  while  I — well,  I  never 
did  get  over  it,  quite.  Silly,  of  course;  but 
when  I  met  other  girls  later  I — I  remembered, 
that's  all." 

"  Which  accounts  for  you  bein'  a  bach  so 
long,  does  it?  "  says  I.  "  Well,  it's  never  too 
late.  Here's  your  chance  once  more.  At  the 
Maison  Maxixe  you  can  pull  any  kind  of  ro- 
mance, stale  or  recent,  and  nobody '11  care  a 
hoot.  I'll  duck  the  dinner,  and  you  can " 

"  No,  no!  "  protests  J.  Bayard.  "  I — er — I 
wouldn't  take  her  to  dinner  alone  for  worlds. 
Really!  "  he  waves  his  hands  almost  tragic. 

"  Why  not!  "  says  I.  "  Thought  you  hadn't 
got  over  it. ' ' 

"  Oh,  but  I  have,"  insists  Steele,  "  thor- 
oughly." 

"  Must  have  been  lately  then,"  says  I. 

11  To-day — just  now,"  says  he.  "I  never 
dreamed  she  would  develop  into — er — a  woman 
like  that, — the  way  she  looks  at  you,  you  know. ' ' 

"  You  don't  need  to  describe  it,"  says  I. 
"  That  wa'n't  a  marker  to  the  way  she  looked 
at  Swif ty  and  me.  But  wait !  We  '11  hand  her 
a  jolt  Saturday  night." 

Steele  groans. •  "I  wish  I  could By 

George!  "  he  explodes.  "  I'd  forgotten  Major 
Ben  Cutter." 


"  What  about  Mm!  "  says  I. 

"  An  old  friend,"  says  J.  Bayard.  "  He's 
landing  Saturday,  from  Santa  Marta.  I  haven't 
seen  him  for  years, — been  down  there  running 
a  banana  plantation,  you  know.  He  cabled  up, 
and  I'd  promised  to  take  him  around  that  even- 
ing, dinner  at  the  club,  and " 

"  Ah,  ditch  it,  J.  B.!  "  says  I.  "No  old- 
friend  alibi  goes  in  this  case." 

"But,  Shorty,"  he  protests,  "how  can 
j M 

"  You  can  lug  him  along,  can't  you?  "  says  I. 
"  Make  it  a  four-cornered  affair.  The  more 
the  merrier." 

"  He's  such  a  diffident,  shy  chap,  though," 
goes  on  Steele,  "  and  after  five  years  in  the 
bush " 

"  Oh,  a  dose  of  Mrs.  Hollister  will  do  him 
good,"  says  I.  "  She  won't  mind.  She'll  be 
bein'  bored.  Just  'phone  her  and  explain. 
And  remind  her  when  she's  gettin'  her  cos- 
tume that  this  ain't  any  church  sociable  we're 
attendin'." 

Honest,  I  was  more  leery  on  that  point  than 
about  anything  else;  for  you  know  how  giddy 
they  doll  up  at  them  joints,  and  while  her  taste 
in  stained  glass  windows  might  be  strictly  up 
to  date,  when  it  comes  to  flossin'  up  for  the 
Maison  Maxixe — well,  no  gray-and-white,  back- 
number  regalia  would  do  there.  If  we  wa'n't 
shut  out,  we  'd  be  guyed  to  death. 

So  about  seven-thirty  Saturday  night  I  was 


some  chilly  in  the  ankles.  I'd  called  for  J. 
Bayard  at  his  hotel,  and  he'd  shown  up  with  the 
Major.  No  figment  of  the  imagination,  either, 
the  Major.  He's  a  big,  husky,  rich-colored 
party  that's  some  imposin'  and  decorative  in 
open-faced  togs;  quiet  and  shy  actin',  though, 
just  as  Steele  had  said.  I  sort  of  took  to  him, 
and  we  swaps  friendly  greetin's. 

"  All  aboard  now,"  says  I,  "  and  we'll  col- 
lect our  widow. ' ' 

Which  seems  to  startle  the  Major  more  or 
less.  "  I  say,  Bayard,"  he  puts  in,  "  you  didn't 
tell  me  she  was  a  widow,  you  know.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  I'd  best  not " 

"  Ah,  she  ain't  the  net-wieldin'  kind,"  says 
I  soothin'.  "  She'll  tell  you  all  about  her  dear 
departed  and  the  memorial  window.  About  as 
gay  as  Trinity  Church  on  Ash  Wednesday, 
she  is.  Come  along." 

Can  you  blame  him,  then,  for  glancin'  re- 
proachful at  me  when  he  sees  what  answers  our 
call  at  the  Lady  Louise  a  few  minutes  later?  I 
lets  go  of  a  few  gasps  myself;  while  J.  Bayard 
— well,  he  just  stares  at  her  with  his  mouth 
open. 

For,  take  it  from  me,  Mrs.  Hollister  had  con- 
nected !  Uh-huh !  Not  with  any  last  fall  outfit, 
nor  yesterday's.  About  day  after  to-morrow's, 
I  should  call  it.  And  if  there  wa'n't  zipp  and 
scream  to  it,  then  I'm  shortsighted  in  the  eyes. 
My  guess  is  that  it's  a  mixture  of  the  last  word 
in  Byzantine  effects,  with  a  Cleopatra  girdle 


282      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

and  a  Martha  Washington  polonaise.  Anyway, 
if  there  ain't  much  above  the  waist  line  but 
gauze  and  strips  of  fur,  there's  plenty  of  flare 
below,  as  far  as  the  ankles.  Lucky  she'd  in- 
vested in  a  generous  fur-lined  wrap  to  go  with 
it,  or  I  wouldn't  have  stirred  a  step  until  we'd 
draped  her  in  a  rug  or  something.  I  ain't 
sayin'  much  about  the  feather  affair  clamped 
around  her  head  in  place  of  a  hat;  only  it  re- 
minds me  of  an  Indian  war  bonnet  that's  been 
through  a  hard  blow. 

"  Well,  Bayard,"  says  she,  floatin'  up  to  us 
wabbly  on  her  high  heels,  "  you  see  I'm 
ready. ' ' 

"  Ye-e-es,"  says  Steele  draggy.  And  while 
I  pushes  the  Major  to  the  front  almost  by  main 
strength,  J.  Bayard  presents  him. 

After  that,  though — say,  I  don't  know  when 
I've  seen  two  parties  indulge  in  such  a  long  and 
earnest  look  at  each  other  as  Major  Ben  and 
Mrs.  Hollister  did  then.  While  the  Major 
flushes  rosy  and  hardly  has  a  word  to  say  for 
himself,  he  just  naturally  glues  his  lamps  to 
her  and  don't  let  'em  roam.  Believe  me  too, 
she  was  some  giddy  picture!  Wa'n't  such  a 
bad  looker,  you  know,  in  her  other  rig;  but  in 
this  zippy  regalia — well,  I  got  to  admit  that 
she's  some  ripe  pippin.  Her  big  brown  eyes  is 
sparklin',  she's  smilin'  coy  as  she  looks  the 
Major  up  and  down,  and  the  next  thing  we  know 
blamed  if  she  ain't  cuddled  right  up  to  him  and 
remarked  kittenish : 


BAYARD  DUCKS  HIS  PAST   283 

"  You  dear  man!  I'm  going  to  let  you  take 
me  out  to  the  cab." 

Well,  that  was  the  programme  from  then  on. 
It  was  the  Major  and  Mrs.  Hollister  first,  with 
me  and  J.  Bayard  trailin'  on  behind.  We'd 
had  some  debate  beforehand  as  to  whether  this 
should  be  a  dry  dinner  or  not,  endin'  by  Steele 
announcin'  he  was  goin'  to  take  a  chance  on 
Martinis  anyhow.  Does  she  shy  at  the  appe- 
tizer? Say,  she  was  clinkin'  glasses  with  the 
Major  before  J.  Bayard  has  a  chance  to  reach 
for  his.  Same  way  with  the  fizz  that  J.  B.  has 
put  in  a  hurry  order  for. 

11  Bored  to  death,  ain't  she?  "  I  remarks 
behind  my  hand. 

And  before  the  fillet  of  sole  was  served  the 
Major  had  unlimbered  his  conversation  works, 
and  that  pair  was  havin'  about  the  chattiest 
time  of  any  couple  in  the  place,  with  me  and  J. 
Bayard  stranded  on  the  side  lines. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Major,"  we  hears 
her  announce  about  nine-fifteen,  as  she  toys 
with  a  three-dollar  portion  of  roast  pheasant, 
"  I  had  no  idea  New  York  could  be  like  this. 
Then  there  are  the  theaters,  the  opera.  I 
believe  I  shall  stay  up  for  the  rest  of  the 
season." 

"  Good!  "  says  the  Major.  "  I  shall  stay 
too." 

Half  an  hour  later,  while  he  was  showin'  her 
how  to  burn  brandy  on  her  demitasse,  I  nudges 
Steele. 


284      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Say,"  I  whispers,  "me  for  a  spot  where  I 
ain't  formin'  a  crowd!  " 

Steele  takes  a  hasty  glance  at  'em.  "  I — I'm 
with  you,"  says  he. 

"  What!  "  says  I.  "  Goin'  to  hand  him  over 
to  her!  " 

He  nods.  "  Well,"  says  I,  "  I  guess  that'll 
pass  for  a  kind  deed." 

"  Also  somewhat  of  a  generous  one,"  says 
he,  exhihitin'  the  footin'  of  the  dinner  bill  he's 
just  settled  for. 

I  don 't  think  they  noticed,  either  of  'em,  when 
we  did  our  sneak.  Once  outside,  J.  Bayard 
takes  a  long  breath,  like  he  was  relieved  at 
havin'  shifted  something.  Then  he  sort  of 
sighs. 

"  Poor  old  Ben!  "  says  he. 

' '  Gwan !  ' '  says  I.  ' l  You  never  can  tell. 
Maybe  he'll  like  playin'  the  devoted  slave  act 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Besides,  she's  on  a 
new  tack.  The  Major's  quite  a  husk  too.  I'll 
bet  he  don't  qualify  for  any  memorial  window. 
Not  him!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TRAILING  DUDLEY   THROUGH   A   TRANCE 

THE  Adamses  hadn't  been  in  the  neighbor- 
hood two  weeks  before  Sadie's  discovered 
Veronica  and  was  ravin'  over  her.  "  Isn't 
she  perfectly  stunning,  Shorty!  "  she  demands. 

"  Now  that  you  mention  it,  I  expect  she  is," 
says  I,  playin'  safe  and  foxy.  It's  a  useful 
phrase  to  pull  in  such  cases ;  but  here  was  once 
when  I  must  have  worked  it  overtime.  Sadie 
sniffs. 

"  Pooh!  "  says  she.  "  Just  as  though  you 
couldn't  see  for  yourself!  Don't  be  absurd, 
Shorty." 

"  Gee!  but  you're  hard  to  suit!  "  says  I  "  If 
I  remember  right,  the  last  time  I  got  enthusi- 
astic over  the  looks  of  a  young  queen  you 
wrinkled  your  nose  and  made  remarks  about 
my  taste." 

"  It  was  that  snippy  little  Marjorie  Lowry 
with  the  baby  face,  wasn't  it?  "  says  she.  "  Oh, 
very  well,  if  you  prefer  that  kind.  Just  like  a 
man!  " 

"  Do  I  have  to  pick  either  one?  "  says  I.  "I 
hope  not;  for,  between  you  and  me,  Sadie,  I'm 
satisfied  as  it  stands." 

285 


286      SHOKTY  McCABB  ON  THE  JOB 

"  Goose!  "  says  slie,  snugglin'  up  forgivin'. 
"  And — would  you  guess  it? — they  say  she's 
twenty-six!  I  wonder  why  she  isn't  married?  ' 

"  There  you  go!  "  says  I.  "I  could  see  it 
comin'." 

"  But  she  is  such  an  attractive  girl,"  goes 
on  Sadie,  "  so  well  poised,  graceful,  dignified, 
all  that!  And  she  has  such  exquisite  coloring, 
and  such  charming  manners !  ' ' 

Yep,  I  guess  it  was  all  so.  One  of  these 
wavin'  palm  models,  Veronica  was, — tall  and 
willowy,  with  all  the  classy  points  of  a  heroine 
in  a  thirty-five-cent  magazine  serial, — dark 
eyes,  dark,  wavy  hair,  good  color  scheme  in  her 
cheeks, — the  whole  bag  of  tricks, — and  specially 
long  on  dignity.  Say,  she  had  me  muffled  from 
the  first  tap  of  the  bell,  and  you  know  how  apt 
I  am  to  try  to  break  that  sort  of  spell  with 
a  few  frivolous  cracks.  Not  when  Veronica 
swings  on  me  with  that  calm  gaze  of  hers, 
though ! 

For  Sadie  don't  do  a  thing  but  call  on  the 
Adamses,  give  a  tea  for  Veronica,  and  proceed 
to  round  up  all  the  Johnnies  in  sight  to  meet 
her.  It's  her  reg'lar  campaign,  you  know. 

"  Ah,  why  not  let  the  poor  girl  alone?  "  says 
I.  "  Maybe  she's  got  one  in  trainin'  some- 
where herself.  There's  no  tellin',  too,  but  what 
she's  stayin'  single  from  choice." 

"  Humph!  "  says  Sadie.  "  Only  the  homely 
ones  are  entitled  to  give  that  excuse,  because 
they  have  no  other;  and  only  a  stupid  man 


TEAZLING  DUDLEY  287 

would  believe  it  in  either  case.  I  suppose  Miss 
Adams  hasn't  married  because  the  right  man 
hasn't  asked  her.  Sometimes  they  don't,  you 
know.  But  it's  a  perfect  shame,  and  if  I  can 
help  the  right  one  to  find  her  I'm  going  to  do 
it." 

"  Sure  you  are,"  says  I.  "  That's  the  skirt 
instinct.  But,  say,  while  the  men  still  have  the 
vote  all  to  themselves  they  ought  to  revise  the 
game  laws  by  declarin'  a  close  season  on  bache- 
lors, say  from  the  fifteenth  of  August  to  the 
fifteenth  of  December." 

"  Too  bad  about  the  young  men,  isn't  it!  " 
says  Sadie.  "  Anyone  would  think  we  set  traps 
for  them." 

"  Show  me  a  trap  easier  to  fall  into  and 
harder  to  get  out  of,"  says  I,  "  and  I'll  make 
my  fortune  by  puttin'  it  on  the  market  as  a 
new  puzzle.  But  blaze  ahead.  I  ain't  worryin'. 
I'm  on  the  inside  lookin'  out,  anyway.  Wish  a 
hubby  on  her  if  you  can." 

And  I  must  say  it  ain't  any  amateur  effort 
Sadie  puts  over.  From  far  and  near  she  rounds 
'em  up  on  one  excuse  or  another,  and  manages 
to  have  'em  meet  Veronica.  She  don't  take 
'em  miscellaneous  or  casual,  like  she  would  for 
most  girls.  I  notices  that  she  sifts  'em  out  skill- 
ful, and  them  that  don't  come  somewhere  near 
the  six-foot  mark  gets  the  gate  early  in  the 
game.  You  catch  the  idea?  Course,  nobody 
would  expect  Veronica  to  fall  for  any  stunted 
Eomeo  that  would  give  her  a  crick  in  the 


288      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

back  when  it  come  to  nestlin'  her  head  on  his 
shoulder. 

So  with  size  added  to  the  other  elimination 
tests  it  must  have  made  hard  scratchin'  at 
times.  But  somehow  or  other  Sadie  produces 
a  dozen  or  more  husky  young  chaps  with  good 
fam'ly  connections  and  the  proper  financial 
ratin's.  Among  'em  was  a  polo  player,  two 
ex-varsity  fullbacks,  and  a  blond  German  mili- 
tary aide  that  she  borrowed  from  a  friend  in 
Washington  for  the  occasion.  She  tries  'em  out 
single  and  in  groups,  using  Mrs.  Purdy-PelPs 
horseshow  box  and  town  house  as  liberal  as 
railroad  waitin'  rooms.  And,  say,  when  it 
comes  to  arrangin'  chance  tete-atetes,  and  cozy 
little  dinner  parties  where  the  guests  are  placed 
just  right,  she  develops  more  ingenuity  than  a 
lady  book  agent  runnin'  down  her  victims.  Talk 
about  shifty  work!  She  makes  this  fly-and- 
spider  fable  sound  clumsy. 

Course,  she  had  a  cinch  in  one  way.  All  she 
has  to  do  is  exhibit  Veronica  in  some  public 
place,  and  she  has  every  man  in  sight  twistin' 
his  neck.  They  dropped  for  her  at  the  first 
glimpse.  It  didn't  need  any  elaborate  scenic 
effects  to  cause  a  stampede,  either;  for  the 
simpler  she  gets  herself  up  the  more  dangerous 
she  is,  and  in  a  plain  black  velvet  dress,  with 
an  old  lace  collar  cut  a  little  low  in  front,  all 
she  lacks  is  a  gold  frame  and  a  number  to  look 
like  a  prize  portrait  at  the  National  Academy. 
Say,  I  ain't  got  much  of  an  eye  that  way  my- 


TEAZLING  DUDLEY  289 

self,  but  the  first  time  I  saw  her  in  that  rig  I 
held  my  breath  for  two  minutes  on  a  stretch, 
and  just  gawped. 

Another  thing  that  helped  was  the  fact  that 
Veronica  could  sing, — no  common  parlor  war- 
blin',  mind  you,  of  such  pieces  as  "  The 
Eosary  "  or  "  Land  of  the  Sky  Blue  Water," 
but  genuine  operatic  stuff,  such  as  you  hear 
Louise  Homer  and  Schumann-Heink  shootin' 
on  the  three-dollar  records.  Why  not?  Hadn't 
Veronica  studied  abroad  for  two  years  under 
Parcheesi,  who'd  begged  her  almost  on  his 
knees  to  do  the  title  role  in  a  new  opera  he  was 
goin'  to  try  out  before  the  King  of  Bavaria? 
Uh-huh!  We  had  that  straight  from  Mrs. 
Adams,  who  wa'n't  much  for  boostin'  the 
fam'ly.  But  no  stagework  for  her! 

In  private,  though,  Veronica  was  good-na- 
tured and  obligin';  so  it  was  an  easy  after-din- 
ner cue  for  a  young  gent  to  lead  her  to  the 
piano  and  persuade  her  to  tear  off  a  few  little 
operatic  gems,  while  he  leaned  on  one  elbow  and 
gazed  soulful  at  her.  And  I  expect  they  didn't 
have  to  know  such  a  lot  about  grand  opera  to 
play  the  leanin'  part,  either. 

Just  how  much  tumult  was  caused  under 
dress  shirt  fronts  durin'  them  few  weeks  I 
couldn't  say  for  certain,  but  at  least  four  or  five 
of  the  young  gents  had  bad  attacks.  The  odd 
thing  about  it,  though,  was  the  sudden  way  they 
dropped  out.  One  day  they'd  be  sendin'  her 
flowers,  and  followin'  her  around  to  teas  and 


290      SHOETY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

lunches  and  dances,  gazin'  longin'  at  her  every 
chance  they  got,  and  displayin*  the  usual  mush 
symptoms,  and  the  next  they  wouldn't  show  up 
at  all.  They'd  disappeared. 

That's  what  puzzled  Sadie  so  much  at  first. 
She  couldn't  make  out  what  had  happened, — 
whether  they'd  got  rash  and  gone  on  the  rug  too 
soon,  or  had  been  run  over  by  a  truck  while 
crossin'  the  street.  Fin'ly  she  comes  across 
one  of  the  quitters  one  afternoon  as  I'm  towin' 
her  down  Fifth-ave.  on  her  way  home  from 
somewhere,  and  she  puts  me  up  to  give  him  the 
quiz. 

"  There,  Shorty!  "  says  she,  stoppin'  sud- 
den. "  There's  Monty  Willetts,  who  was  so 
crazy  about  Veronica.  No  one  has  seen  him 
for  a  week.  Couldn't  you  ask  if  anything  se- 
rious has  happened  to  him?  v 

I  expect  her  idea  was  for  me  to  put  him 
through  the  third  degree  so  subtle  he  wouldn't 
suspect.     Well,   leavin'    Sadie   gazin'   into    a 
jew'lry  window,  I  overhauls  him  and  does  my 
best. 

"  Say,  Monty,"  says  I,  jabbin'  him  playful 
in  the  ribs,  "  how  about  you  and  that  Miss 
Adams?  Did  you  follow  her  to  the  frost  line, 
or  what?  " 

II  That's  an   excellent  way  to   put  it,   Mo- 
Cabe,"  says  he.    "  And  I'm  chilly  yet  from  the 
experience. ' ' 

"  Sporty  lad!  "  says  I.  "  Did  you  try  to 
hold  her  hand,  or  something  like  that?  ' 


TRAILING  DUDLEY  291 

"  What!  "  lie  gasps.  "  Try  to  hold  hands 
with  the  stately  Miss  Adams!  Heaven  forbid! 
I'm  not  absolutely  reckless,  you  know.  It  was 
in  our  first  confidential  chat  that  I  went  on  the 
rocks.  We'd  discussed  polo  for  half  an  hour, 
until  I  found  she  knew  more  about  the  English 
team  than  I  did.  Why,  she'd  visited  at  Hurl- 
ingham  House  during  the  practice  matches.  So 
I  floundered  about,  trying  to  shift  the  subject, 
until  we  hit  on  antique  vases — deuced  if  I  know 
why.  But  my  Governor  dabbled  in  such  junk 
a  bit,  you  know,  and  I  suppose  I  thought,  from 
having  heard  him  talk,  that  I  was  up  on  an- 
tiques. But,  say,  hanged  if  she  couldn't  name 
more  kinds  than  I  ever  knew  existed  I  Rippled 
on  about  Pompeian  art,  and  Satsuma  ware,  and 
Egyptian  tear  jugs  as  readily  as  Ted  Keefe, 
my  stable  manager,  would  about  ponies.  I  tried 
again  and  asked  if  she'd  seen  many  of  the  new 
plays,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  bluffing 
through  a  dialogue  about  Galsworthy  and  Mase- 
field  and  Sudermann  on  an  experience  strictly 
limited  to  musical  comedies  and  Belasco's  lat- 
est. Whe-e-e-ew !  I  made  my  escape  after  that. 
Say,  isn't  it  a  shame  a  girl  with  eyes  like  hers 
should  know  so  blamed  much?  " 

I  couldn't  help  grinnin'  at  Monty,  and  when 
I  picks  up  Sadie  again  I  gives  her  the  diag- 
nosis. 

"  Case  of  springin'  the  highbrow  chatter  on 
a  sportin'  chappy  that  wears  a  fifteen  and  a 
half  collar  and  a  six  and  three-quarters  hat," 


says  I.  "  He's  as  thankful  as  if  he'd  come 
through  a  train  wreck  with  his  cigarette  still 
lighted.  You  ought  to  tip  Veronica  to  chop  her 
lines  and  work  the  spell  with  her  eyes." 

"  Pooh!  "  says  Sadie.  "  Monty  never  had  a 
chance,  anyway.  You  can't  expect  a  brilliant 
girl  like  Veronica  to  be  satisfied  with  a  husband 
who's  at  his  best  only  when  he's  knocking  a  goal 
or  leading  a  hunt,  even  if  he  is  big  and  hand- 
some." 

But  with  this  as  a  clew  I  figured  out  how  two 
or  three  of  the  other  candidates  came  to  side- 
step so  abrupt.  The  average  Johnny  is  all 
right  so  long  as  the  debate  is  confined  to 
gossipy  bits  about  the  latest  Reno  recruits,  or 
who's  to  be  asked  to  Mrs.  Stuyve  Fish's  next 
dinner  dance;  but  cut  loose  on  anything  serious 
and  you  have  him  grabbin'  for  the  lifeline. 

There  was  two,  though,  that  came  through 
to  the  finals,  as  you  might  say.  One  was  this 
German  guy,  Baron  Dusseldorf ;  and  the  other 
was  young  Beverley  Duer,  whose  fad  is  takin' 
movin'  pictures  of  wild  animals  in  their  native 
jungles  and  givin'  private  movie  shows  in  the 
Plaza  ballroom.  Some  strong  on  the  wise  con- 
versation himself,  Beverley  is.  He  paints  a  bit, 
plays  the  'cello  pretty  fair,  has  a  collection  of 
ivory  carvin's,  and  has  traveled  all  over  the 
lot.  You  can't  faze  him  with  the  snappy 
repartee,  either;  for  that's  his  specialty. 

As  for  the  Baron,  his  long  suit  was  listenin'. 
He  was  a  bear  for  it.  He'd  sit  there,  big  and 


TRAILING  DUDLEY  293 

ornamental,  with  his  light  blue  eyes  glued  on 
Veronica,  takin'  it  all  in  as  fast  as  she  could 
feed  it  to  him,  and  lookin'  almost  intelligent. 
Course,  when  he  did  try  a  comeback  in  English 
he  chopped  his  words  up  comic;  but  he  could 
speak  four  other  languages,  and  Veronica 
seemed  pleased  enough  to  find  someone  she 
could  practice  her  French  and  German  on. 

For  awhile  there  I'd  have  picked  either  of 
the  two  as  a  winner;  only  I  couldn't  just  make 
up  my  mind  which  would  get  the  decision.  But 
somehow  the  affair  don't  seem  to  progress  the 
way  it  should.  Each  one  appeared  to  get  about 
so  far,  and  then  stick.  They  both  seemed 
anxious  enough  too ;  but  just  as  one  would  take 
an  extra  spurt  Veronica  would  somehow  cool 
him  down.  She  didn't  seem  to  be  playin'  one 
against  the  other,  either.  Looked  like  careless 
work  to  me.  Sadie  gets  almost  peeved  with 
her. 

Then  one  night  at  our  house  a  lot  of  the  mys- 
tery was  cleared  up  by  some  friendly  joshin' 
across  the  dinner  table.  We  had  all  the 
Adamses  there  that  evenin', — Pa  Adams,  a  tall, 
dignified,  white-whiskered  old  sport,  who  looked 
like  he  might  have  been  quite  a  gay  boy  in  his 
day;  Mother,  a  cheery,  twinklin '-eyed,  rather 
chubby  old  girl ;  and  Veronica,  all  in  white  satin 
and  dazzlin'  to  look  at.  Also  Sadie  had  asked 
in  Miss  Prescott,  an  old  maid  neighbor  of  ours, 
who's  so  rich  it  hurts,  but  who's  as  plain  and 
simple  as  they  come.  She's  a  fruit  preservin' 


294      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

specialist,  and  every  fall  her  and  Sadie  gets 
real  chummy  over  swappin'  cannin'  receipts. 

About  five  P.M.,  though,  Miss  Prescott  'phones 
over  her  regrets,  sayin'  how  her  nephew  had 
arrived  unexpected;  so  of  course  she  gets  the 
word  to  bring  Dudley  Byron  along  with  her. 
Emerson,  his  last  name  is,  and  while  I  hadn't 
seen  much  of  him  lately  we'd  been  more  or  less 
friendly  when  he  was  takin'  special  post-gradu- 
ate work  at  some  agricultural  college  and  was 
around  home  durin'  vacations.  An  odd,  quiet 
chap,  Dudley  Byron,  who  never  figured  much 
anywhere, — one  of  the  kind  you  can  fill  in  with 
reckless  and  depend  on  not  to  make  a  break  or 
get  in  the  way.  He's  a  slim,  sharp-faced  young 
gent,  with  pale  hair  plastered  down  tight,  and 
deep-set  gray  eyes  that  sort  of  wander  around 
aimless. 

It  might  have  been  kind  of  dull  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  Adamses;  but  Veronica  and  her 
Pa  are  lively  enough  to  wake  up  any  crowd. 
They're  gen 'rally  jollyin'  each  other  about 
something.  This  time  what  started  it  was 
someone  remarkin'  about  a  weddin'  that  was 
to  be  pulled  off  soon,  and  how  the  bride  was 
to  be  the  last  of  five  daughters. 

"Fortunate  parent!"  says  Pa  Adams. 
"  Five!  And  here  I've  been  unable  to  get  rid 
of  one." 

"  You  didn't  begin  early  enough,"  comes 
back  Veronica.  "  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  McCabe, 
when  I  was  nineteen  Daddy  used  to  be  so  afraid 


TRAILING  DUDLEY  295 

I  would  be  stolen  away  from  him  that  he  would 
almost  lie  in  wait  for  young  men  with  a  shot- 
gun. After  I  passed  twenty-four  he  began 
meeting  them  at  the  gate  with  a  box  of  cigars 
in  one  hand  and  a  shaker  full  of  cocktails  in  the 
other. ' ' 

Pa  Adams  joins  in  the  laugh.  "  It's  quite 
true,"  says  he.  "  For  the  last  two  or  three 
years  Mother  and  I  have  been  doing  our  best  to 
marry  her  off.  We  gave  up  the  United  States 
as  hopeless,  and  carted  her  all  over  Europe. 
No  use.  Even  younger  sons  wouldn't  have  her. 
Now  we're  back  again,  trying  the  dodge  of 
staying  longer  in  one  place.  But  I  fail  to  see 
any  encouraging  signs." 

"I'm  sure  I've  tried  to  do  my  part  too," 
says  Veronica,  smilin'  gay.  "  I  really  shouldn't 
mind  being  married.  My  tastes  are  wholly 
domestic.  But,  dear  me,  one  must  find  some- 
where near  the  right  sort  of  man,  you  know! 

And  so  far "  She  ends  with  a  shrug  of  her 

white  shoulders  and  a  puckerin'  of  her  rosy 
lips. 

"  Poor  Baron!  "  sighs  Sadie,  teasin'. 

"  I  know,"  says  Veronica.  "  And  what  a 
big,  handsome  creature  he  is  too!  But  I  fear 
I'm  not  equal  to  carrying  on  a  lifelong  mono- 
logue." 

"  Surely  that  wouldn't  be  the  case  with 
Beverley  Duer,"  suggests  Sadie. 

"  Isn't  he  entertaining!  "  says  Veronica  en- 
thusiastic. "  But  wouldn't  it  be  a  bit  selfish, 


296      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

appropriating  all  that  brilliance  just  for  one- 
self! And  could  it  be  done?  I'm  afraid  not. 
About  once  a  month,  I  imagine,  Beverley  would 
need  a  new  audience.  Besides — well,  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know;  only  I  don't  seem  thrilled  in  the 
way  I  ought  to  be." 

With  chat  like  that  bein'  batted  back  and 
forth,  I  expect  I  wa'n't  takin'  much  notice  of 
Dudley  Byron,  who's  sittin'  quiet  between  me 
and  Aunty ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  he  leans  over 
and  whispers  eager : 

"  Isn't  she  perfectly  splendid,  though?  " 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  tearin'  myself  away  from 
what's  still  goin'  on  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table.  "Oh!  Miss  Adams?  Sure,  she's  a 
star." 

"  I — I  would  like  to  know  her  better,"  says 
Dudley,  sort  of  plaintive. 

"  Crash  in,  then,"  says  I.-  "No  opposition 
here." 

I  thought  I  was  bein'  humorous ;  for  Dudley's 
about  as  much  of  a  lady's  man  as  he  is  a  heavy 
shot  putter.  I  never  knew  of  his  lookin'  twice 
at  a  girl  before;  but  to-night  he  seems  to  be 
makin'  up  for  lost  time.  All  durin'  the  rest  of 
the  meal  he  does  the  steady,  admirin'  gaze  at 
Veronica.  He  don't  try  to  hide  it,  either,  but 
fixes  them  gray  eyes  of  his  her  way  and  neglects 
to  eat  five  perfectly  good  courses.  When  we 
adjourns  to  the  livin'  room  for  coffee  he  keeps 
it  up  too.  Couldn't  have  been  much  suddener 
if  he'd  been  struck  by  lightnin'. 


TRAILING  DUDLEY  297 

I  don't  know  how  many  others  noticed  it,  but 
it  was  as  plain  as  day  to  me  that  Dudley  Byron 
is  on  the  point  of  makin'  a  chump  of  himself. 
I  begun  to  feel  kind  of  sorry  for  him  too;  for 
he's  a  decent,  well  meanin'  young  chap.    So  I 
edges  around  where  I  can  get  a  word  with  him 
on  the  side. 

I 1  Come  out  of  the  trance,  Dudley, ' '  says  I. 

"  I — I  beg  pardon?  "  says  he,  startin'  guilty. 

"  You'll  only  get  your  wings  singed,"  says  I. 
"  Forget  Veronica  while  there's  a  chance." 

"  But  I  don't  wish  to  forget  her,"  says  he. 
"  She— she's  beautiful." 

"  Ah,  what's  the  use?  "  says  I.  "  She's 
mighty  particular  too." 

"  She  has  every  right  to  be,"  says  Dudley* 
"What  delicious  coloring!  What  a  carriage t 
She  has  the  Bearing  of  a  Queen." 

1 '  Maybe, ' '  says  I.  ' '  But  wouldn  't  you  rattle 
around  some  on  a  throne?  Keep  that  in  mind, 
Dudley." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  says  he.  "I  suppose  I  must 
remember  how  unimpressive  I  am." 

He's  an  easy  forgetter  that  evenin',  though. 
When  Sadie  suggests  that  Miss  Adams  favor 
us,  blessed  if  it  ain't  Dudley  who's  right  there 
doin'  the  music  turnin'  act.  I  wonder  how 
many  others  has  struck  that  same  pose,  and 
lost  good  sleep  thinkin'  it  over  afterwards? 
But  never  a  one,  I'll  bet,  that  looked  like  such 
a  hopeless  starter. 

He  seemed  to  be  enjoyin'  it  as  much  as  any,. 


298      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

though.  And  afterwards,  when  the  other  four 
settles  themselves  around  the  card  table  for  the 
usual  three  rubbers,  blamed  if  Dudley  don't 
have  the  nerve  to  tow  Veronica  into  the  next 
room,  stretchin'  on  tiptoe  to  talk  earnest  in  her 
ear. 

I  could  guess  what  it  was  all  about.  Veronica 
had  a  nice  way  of  soundin'  people  for  their 
pet  hobbies,  and  she  must  have  got  Dudley 
started  on  his;  for  it's  the  only  subject  I 
ever  knew  him  to  get  real  gabby  over.  And 
you'd  never  guess  from  his  looks  what  it  was. 
FarminM 

Course  he  ain't  doin'  the  reg'lar  Rube  kind, 
— hay  and  hogs,  hogs  and  hay.  He  goes  at  it 
scientific, — one  of  these  book  farmers,  you  un- 
derstand. Establishin'  model  farms  is  his  fad. 
Dudley  told  me  all  about  it  once, — intensive  cul- 
tivation, soil  doctorin',  harvestin'  efficiency,  all 
such  dope,  with  a  cost-bearin'  side  line  to  fall 
back  on  in  the  winter. 

Not  that  he  needs  the  money,  but  he  says  he 
wants  to  keep  busy  and  make  himself  useful. 
So  his  scheme  is  to  buy  up  farms  here  and  there, 
take  each  one  in  turn,  put  it  on  a  payin'  basis 
by  studyin'  the  best  stuff  to  raise  and  gettin' 
wise  to  the  market,  and  then  showin'  his  neigh- 
bors how  to  turn  the  trick  too.  No  rollin'  out 
at  four  A.M.  to  milk  the  cows  for  Dudley!  He 
hires  a  good  crew  at  topnotch  wages,  and  puts 
in  his  time  plannin'  irrigatin'  ditches,  experi- 
mentin'  with  fertilizers,  doin'  the  seed  testing 


BLAMED  IF  DUDLEY  DON'T  HAVE  THE  NERVE  TO  TOW 

VERONICA  INTO  THE  NEXT  ROOM,  STRETCHIN' 

ON  TIPTOE  TO  TALK  IN  HER  EAR. 


TRAILING  DUDLEY  299 

and  readin'  government  reports;  even  has  a 
farm  bookkeeper. 

Then  when  cold  weather  comes,  instead  of 
turnin'  off  his  help,  he  springs  his  side  line, — 
maybe  workin'  up  the  wood  lot  into  shippin' 
crates,  or  developin'  a  stone  quarry.  Last  I 
heard  he  was  settin'  out  willows  he'd  imported 
from  Holland,  and  was  growin'  and  makin' 
fancy  veranda  furniture.  He's  rung  in  a  whole 
town  on  the  deal,  and  they  was  all  gettin'  a  good 
thing  out  of  it.  Establishing  community  in- 
dustries, is  the  way  Dudley  puts  it.  Says 
every  jay  burg  ought  to  have  one  of  its 
own. 

Most  likely  this  was  what  he  was  so  busy  ex- 
plainin'  to  Veronica.  He's  a  good  talker  when 
he  gets  started  too,  and  for  such  a  quiet  ap- 
pearin'  chap  he  can  liven  up  a  lot.  Must  have 
been  goin'  into  the  details  deep  with  her;  for 
they  don't  come  back — and  they  don't  come 
back.  I'd  read  the  evenin'  papers,  and  poked 
up  the  log  fire  half  a  dozen  times,  and  stood 
around  watchin'  the  bridge  game  until  I  nearly 
yawned  my  head  off;  but  they're  still  missin'. 

I'd  just  strolled  around  into  the  front  hall, 
kind  of  scoutin'  to  see  if  he'd  talked  her  to 
sleep,  or  whether  she'd  come  back  at  him  with 
some  brainy  fad  of  her  own  and  was  givin'  him 
the  chilly  spine,  when  out  through  the  door 
dashes  Dudley  Byron,  runnin'  his  fingers 
through  his  hair  desperate  and  glarin'  around 
wild. 


300      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 


"  Aha!  "  says  I.  'So  you  got  it  too,  did 
you?  " 

"  McCabe,"  says  he,  hoarse  and  husky,  "  I — 
I've  done  a  dreadful  thing!  " 

"  Why,  Dudley!  "  says  I.  "I  can't  believe 
it." 

11  But  I  have,"  says  he,  clawin'  me  on  the 
shoulder.  "  Oh,  I — I've  disgraced  myself!  " 

"  How?  "  says  I.  "  Called  some  German 
composer  out  of  his  right  name,  or  what?  " 

"  No,  no!  "  says  he.    "  I — I  can't  tell  you." 

"Eh?"  says  I,  starin'  puzzled.  "Well, 
you'd  better." 

"  True,  I'm  your  guest,"  says  he.  "  But — 
but  I  forgot  myself." 

"  Ah,  cheer  up,"  says  I.  "  Veronica's  a 
good  sport.  She  wouldn't  mind  if  you  let  slip 
a  cussword." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand,"  says  Dudley, 
wringin'  his  hands.  "  Really,  I  have  done 
something  awful!  " 

"Come,  come!"  says  I.  "Let's  have  it, 
then." 

"  Believe  me,"  says  he,  "I  was  carried 
away,  quite  intoxicated." 

"  Gwan!  "  says  I.  "  Where 'd  you  get  the 
stuff?  " 

"  I  mean,"  says  he,  "  by  her  wonderful 
beauty.  And  then,  McCabe,  in  one  moment  I — 
I  kissed  her!  " 

"Great  guns!"  says  I.  "Didn't  plant  a 
reg'lar  smack,  did  you?  " 


TRAILING  DUDLEY  301 

He  bows  Ms  head  solemn.  "  Eight  on  the 
lips,"  says  he.  "  You  see,  we  were  talking, 
her  lovely  face  was  very  close,  her  glorious 
eyes  were  shining  into  mine,  when  suddenly — 
well,  it  seemed  as  if  I  became  dizzy,  and  the 
next  moment  I  seized  her  brutally  in  my  arms 
and — and " 

"Good  night!"  says  I,  gaspin'.  "What 
did  she  hit  you  with?  ' 

"  I — I  can't  say  exactly  what  happened 
next,"  says  Dudley.  "  I  think  I  dropped  her 
and  ran  out  here." 

"  Of  all  the  boob  plays!  "  says  I.  "To  take 
a  Brodie  plunge  like  that,  and  then  do  the  fade- 
away! " 

"  But  what  must  I  do  now?  "  groans  Dud- 
ley. "  Oh,  what  can  I  do?  " 

' '  Is  she  still  in  there  ?  ' '  says  I. 

"  I — I  suppose  so,"  says  he. 

"  Well,  so  far  as  I  can  see,"  says  I,  "  you  got 
to  go  back  and  apologize." 

"  What!    Now?  "  says  he. 

1 '  Before  she  has  time  to  sick  the  old  man  on 
you  with  a  gun, ' '  says  I. 

"Yes,  yes!"  says  he.  "Not  that  I  am 
afraid  of  that.  I  wish  he  would  shoot  me!  I 
hope  someone  does !  But  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
beg  her  pardon." 

"  In  with  you,  then!  "  says  I,  leadin'  him 
towards  the  door. 

With  his  hand  on  the  knob  he  balks.  "  Oh,  I 
can't!  "  says  he.  "I  simply  cannot  trust  my- 


302      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

self.  If  I  should  try,  if  I  should  find  myself 
close  to  her  once  more.  McCabe,  I — I  might 
do  it  all  over  again." 

"  Say,  look  here,  Dudley!  "  says  I.  "  This 
ain't  a  habit  you're  breakin'  yourself  of,  you 
know:  it's  just  a  single  slip  you've  got  to  apolo- 
gize for." 

'  *  I  know, ' '  says  he ;  "  but  you  cannot  im- 
agine how  madly  in  love  with  her  I  am." 

"I'm  glad  I  can't,"  says  I. 

And,  say,  he  sticks  to  it.  No,  Sir,  I  can't 
push  him  in  there  with  Veronica  again.  I  had 
him  out  on  the  front  steps  for  fifteen  minutes, 
tryin'  to  argue  some  sense  into  him;  but  all  he 
wants  to  do  is  go  jump  off  the  rocks  into  the 
Sound  and  have  me  tell  Aunty  he  died  disgraced 
but  happy.  Fin'ly,  though,  he  agrees  to  wait 
while  I  go  sleuthin'  in  and  find  whether  Vero- 
nica has  rushed  in  tears  to  Daddy,  or  is  still 
curled  up  on  the  davenport  bitin'  the  cushions 
in  rage. 

I  slips  into  the  livin'  room,  where  I  find  'em 
addin'  up  the  scores  and  talkin'  over  the  last 
hand,  but  otherwise  calm  and  peaceful.    Then 
I  opens  the  door  soft  into  the  next  room,  steps 
in,  and  shuts  the  door  behind  me.    No  wild  sobs. 
No     broken     furniture.       There's     Veronica, 
rockin'  back  and  forth  under  the  readin'  light, 
with  a  book  in  her  lap. 

II  "Well!  "  says  I,  waitin'  breathless  for  the 
storm  to  break. 

She  gives  a  little  jump,  glances  up  quick,  and 


TBAILING  DUDLEY  303 

pinks  up  like  a  poppy.  "  Oh!  "  says  she, 
"  It's  you?  " 

11  Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  I — er — I've  just  been 
talkin'  with  Dudley." 

"  Ye-e-es?  "  says  she,  rollin'  a  leaf  of  the 
book  over  her  finger  nervous  and  droopin'  her 
long  lashes. 

"  You  see,"  says  I,  fidgetin'  some  on  my  own 
account,  "  he — he's  goin'  home  in  a  minute  or 
two." 

"  Oh,  is  he?  "  says  she.  "  There!  And  I 
meant  to  ask  him  if  he  wouldn't  call  to-morrow. 
Won't  you  do  it  for  me,  Mr.  McCabe?  " 

How  about  that  for  a  reverse  jolt,  eh?  I 
backs  out  of  the  room  lookin'  foolish.  And 
Dudley  he  near  collapses  when  I  brings  him  the 
glad  news. 

As  for  Sadie,  she  couldn't  believe  me  at  all 
when  I  tells  her  Dudley  looks  like  a  sure  win- 
ner. She  had  to  wait  until  a  few  days  later 
when  she  catches  'em  just  breakin'  a  clinch, 
before  she'll  admit  I  ain't  stringin'  her. 

"  But  a  shy,  diffident  fellow  like  Dudley!  " 
says  she.  "  I  don't  see  how  he  did  it." 

"  Neither  does  Dudley,"  says  I.  "  Guess  it 
must  have  been  a  case  of  a  guy  with  the  goods 
comin'  across  with  the  swift  tackle.  Maybe 
that's  what  she'd  been  waitin'  for  all  along." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  LITTLE   WHILE   WITH   ALVIN 

I  CAN'T  say  just  how  I  got  roped  in;  whether 
it  was  me  that  discovered  Alvin,  or  him  who 
took  to  me.  Must  have  been  some  my  fault; 
for  here  was  a  whole  subway  car  full  of  people, 
and  I'm  the  one  he  seems  to  pick.  I  might  lay 
it  to  an  odd  break,  only  things  of  that  kind  has 
happened  to  me  so  often. 

Anyway,  here  I  am,  doin'  the  strap- swingin' 
act  patient,  without  makin'  any  mad  dash  for 
a  seat  at  stations,  but  hangin'  on  and  watchin' 
the  crowds  shift  sort  of  curious.  You  might 
as  well,  you  know;  for  if  you  do  get  a  chance 
to  camp  down  durin'  the  rush  hours,  along 
comes  some  fat  lady  and  stands  puffin'  in  front 
of  you,  or  a  thin,  tired  lookin'  one  who  glares 
at  you  over  the  top  of  your  paper.  But  if 
you're  a  standee  yourself  you  feel  free  to  look 
any  of  'em  in  the  eye. 

And,  say,  ain't  we  a  glum,  peevish,  sour 
lookin'  lot,  here  in  New  York?  You'd  most 
think  that  showin'  any  signs  of  good  nature  was 
violatin'  a  city  ordinance,  and  that  all  our  dis- 
positions had  been  treated  with  acetic  acid. 
Why,  by  the  suspicious  looks  we  give  the 

304 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  WITH  ALVIN    305 

stranger  who  rubs  elbows  with  us,  you  might 
suppose  our  population  was  ninety  per  cent, 
escaped  criminals. 

As  the  idea  struck  me  I  may  have  loosened 
my  mouth  corners  a  little,  or  may  not.  Any- 
way, as  we  pulls  into  72d-st.,  and  the  wild 
scramble  to  catch  a  packed  express  begins,  I 
finds  myself  gazin'  absentminded  at  this  slim, 
stoop-shouldered  gent  in  the  corner.  Next 
thing  I  know  he's  smilin'  friendly  and  pointin' 
to  a  vacant  seat  alongside. 

First  off,  of  course,  I  thinks  he  must  be 
someone  I've  met  casual  and  forgot;  but  as  I 
slides  in  beside  him  and  gets  a  closer  view  I 
know  that  he's  one  of  the  ninety-odd  millions 
of  unfortunates  who,  up  to  date,  ain't  had  the 
benefit  of  my  acquaintance.  In  other  words, 
he's  one  of  the  common  suspects,  an  utter 
stranger. 

Course,  as  far  as  his  looks  go,  he  might  be  a 
perfect  gent.  He's  dressed  neat  and  plain,  ex- 
cept for  the  brown  spats ;  but  as  you  run  across 
a  spat  wearer  only  now  and  then,  you're  bound 
to  guess  they  ain't  just  right  somewhere.  The 
sallow-complected  face  with  the  prominent 
cheekbones  don't  count  so  much  against  him. 
Them  points  are  common.  What  caught  me, 
though,  was  the  lively  brown  eyes  with  just  the 
hint  of  a  twinkle  in  'em.  Always  does.  I  know 
some  like  the  wide-set,  stary  kind  that  go  with 
an  open-faced  smile  and  a  loud  haw-haw;  but 
for  me  the  quiet  chuckle  and  the  twinklin'  eye! 


306 '     SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Still,  he  hadn't  proved  yet  that  he  wa'n't  a 
pickpocket  or  a  wife  beater;  so  I  just  nods 
non-committal  over  my  shoulder  and  resumes 
my  usual  aristocratic  reserve. 

11  How  does  it  happen,"  says  he,  "  that  you 
aren't  on  your  way  to  the  funeral  too!  " 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  a  little  jarred  at  this  odd 
openin'. 

"  Or  is  it  that  they  have  all  been  indulgin'  in 
family  rows?  Look  at  them!  "  he  goes  on, 
wavin'  his  hand  at  the  earful. 

11  Oh,  I  get  you,"  says  I.  "  Not  so  cheerful 
as  they  might  be,  are  they?  " 

11  But  is  it  necessary  for  us  all  to  be  so 
selfishly  sad,"  says  he,  "  so  gloomily  stern? 
True,  we  have  each  our  troubles,  some  little, 
some  big;  but  why  wear  them  always  on  our 
faces?  Why  inflict  them  on  others?  Why  not, 
when  we  can,  the  brave,  kindly  smile?  " 

"  Just  the  way  it  struck  me  a  minute  ago," 
says  I. 

"  Did  it?  "  says  he,  beamin'.  "  Then  I  claim 
you  for  our  clan." 

"  Your  which?  "  says  I. 

"  Our  brotherhood,"  says  he. 

11  Can't  be  very  exclusive,"  says  I,  "  if  I've 
qualified  so  easy.  Any  partic'lar  passwords  or 
grip  to  it?  " 

"  We  rehearsed  the  whole  ritual  before  you 
sat  down,"  says  he.  "  The  friendly  glance, 
that's  all.  And  now — well,  I  prefer  to  be  called 
Alvin." 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  WITH  ALVIN    307 

"  So-o-o?  "  says  I  sort  of  distant.  But  I'd 
no  more  'n  got  it  out  than  I  felt  mean.  What  if 
he  was  a  con  man,  or  worse  ?  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  take  care  of  myself.  So  I  goes  on,  "  Mc- 
Cabe's  my  name;  but  among  friends  I'm 
gen 'rally  known  as  Shorty." 

"  The  best  of  credentials!  "  says  he.  "  Then 
hail,  Shorty,  and  welcome  to  the  Free  Brother- 
hood of  Ego  Tamers!  " 

I  shakes  my  head  puzzled.  "  Now  I've  lost 
you,"  says  I.  "If  it's  a  comedy  line,  shoot 
it." 

"  Ah,  but  it's  only  tragedy,"  says  Alvin, 
"  the  original  tragedy  of  man.  See  how  its 
blight  rests  on  these  around  us !  Simply  over- 
stimulation  of  the  ego;  our  souls  in  the  strait- 
jacket  of  self;  no  freedom  of  thought  or  word 
or  deed  to  our  fellows.  Ego,  the  tyrant,  rules 
us.  Only  we  of  the  Free  Brotherhood  are  seek- 
ing to  tame  ours.  Do  I  put  it  clumsily?  " 

"  If  you  was  readin'  it  off  a  laundry  ticket, 
it  couldn't  be  clearer,"  says  I.  "  Something 
about  tappin'  the  upper-case  I  too  frequent, 
ain't  it?  " 

"  An  excellent  paraphrase,"  says  he.  "  You 
have  it!  " 

"  Gee!  "  says  I.  "  Didn't  know  I  was  so 
close  behind  you.  But  whisper,  I  ain't  got 
my  Ego  on  the  mat  with  his  tongue  out,  not 
yet." 

"  And  who  of  us  has?  "  says  he.  "  But  at 
least  we  give  him  a  tussle  now  and  then.  We've 


308      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

broken  a  fetter  here  and  there.  We  have 
worked  loose  the  gag." 

Say,  he  had,  all  right,  or  else  he'd  swallowed 
it;  for  as  an  easy  and  fluent  converse*  Alvin 
headed  the  bill.  Course,  it's  an  odd  line  he 
hands  out,  the  kind  that  keeps  you  guessin'.  In 
spots  it  listens  like  highbrow  book  stuff,  and 
then  again  it  don't.  But  somehow  I  finds  it 
sort  of  entertainin'.  Besides,  he  seems  like 
such  a  good-natured,  well  meanin'  gink  that  I 
lets  him  run  on,  clear  to  42d-st. 

11  Well,  so  long,"  says  I.  "I  get  out 
here. ' ' 

"  To  leave  me  among  the  Ishmaelites!  "  Says 
he.  "  And  I've  two  useless  hours  to  dispose  of. 
Let  me  go  a  way  with  you?  " 

I  hadn't  counted  on  annexin'  Alvin  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,  and  I  expect  I  could  have  shook 
him  if  I'd  tried;  but  by  that  time  he'd  got  me 
kind  of  curious  to  know  who  and  what  he  was, 
and  why.     So  I  tows  him  over  as  far  as  the 
Physical  Culture  Studio. 

II  Here's  where  I  make  some  of  'em  forget 
their  egos,  at  so  much  per,"  says  I,  pointin' 
to  the  sign. 

"  Ah,  the  red  corpuscle  method!  "  says  he. 
"  Primitive;  but  effective,  I've  no  doubt.  I 
must  see  it  in  operation." 

And  an  hour  later  he's  still  there,  reposin' 
comf 'table  in  an  office  chair  with  his  feet  on  the 
windowsill,  smokin'  cigarettes,  and  throwin'  off 
chunks  of  classy  dialogue  that  had  Swifty  Joe 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  ,WITH  ALVIN    309 

gawpin'  at  him  like  he  was  listenin'  to  a  foreign 
language. 

"  My  assistant,  Mr.  Gallagher,"  says  I,  by 
way  of  apologizin'. 

Alvin  jumps  up  and  shakes  him  hearty  by  the 
mitt.  '  *  Allow  me  to  offer  you  a  cigarette,  Sir, ' ' 
says  he. 

"  Much  obliged,"  says  Swifty,  eyin'  the  thin 
silver  case  with  the  gold  linin'.  "  Gee!  what 
a  swell  box !  ' ' 

"  Do  you  fancy  it!  "  says  Alvin.  li  Then  it 
is  yours,  with  my  best  compliments." 

"  Ah-r-r-r  chee,  no!  "  protests  Swifty. 

"  Please,  as  a  favor  to  me,"  insists  Alvin, 
pushin'  the  case  into  his  hand.  "  One  finds 
so  few  ways  of  giving  pleasure.  In  return  I 
shall  remember  gratefully  the  direct  sincerity 
of  your  manner.  Charming!  " 

And,  say,  I  expect  it's  the  first  time  in  his 
whole  career  that  anybody  ever  discovered  any 
good  points  about  Swifty  Joe  Gallagher  on  first 
sight.  He  backs  out  with  his  mouth  open  and 
his  face  tinted  up  like  an  old  maid's  that's  been 
kissed  in  the  dark. 

But  that  little  play  only  makes  it  all  the 
harder  for  me  to  shoo  him  out.  The  fact  is, 
though,  it's  gettin'  almost  time  for  a  directors' 
meetin'  that's  to  be  pulled  off  in  my  front  office. 
Sounds  imposing  don't  it?  Didn't  know  I  was 
on  a  board,  eh?  Well,  I  am,  and  up  to  date  it's 
been  one  of  the  richest  luxuries  I  ever  blew 
myself  to.  I'd  been  roped,  that's  all. 


310      SHOBTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

Young  Blair  Woodbury,  one  of  my  downtown 
reg'lars,  had  opened  the  cellar  door  for  me. 
Thinks  he's  a  great  promoter,  Blair  does.  And 
somewhere  he'd  dug  up  this  nutty  inventor 
with  his  milk  container  scheme.  Oh,  it  listens 
good,  the  way  he  put  it.  Just  a  two-ounce, 
woodpulp,  mailin'  cartridge  lined  with  oiled 
paper,  that  could  be  turned  out  for  a  dollar  a 
thousand,  pint  and  quart  sizes,  indestructible, 
absolutely  sanitary,  air  tight,  germ  proof,  and 
so  on. 

Simple  little  thing;  but  it  was  goin'  to  put 
the  Milk  Trust  out  of  business  inside  of  six 
months,  set  back  the  high  cost  of  livin'  a  full 
notch,  give  every  dairy  farmer  an  automobile, 
and  land  the  Universal  Container  Company's 
stockholders  at  No.  1  Easy-st.  For,  instead  of 
.payin'  two  prices  for  an  imitation  blend  doc- 
tored up  with  formaldehyde,  you  got  the  real, 
creamy  stuff  straight  from  the  farm  at  five  a 
quart,  and  passed  in  at  the  front  door  with 
your  morning  mail.  Didn't  the  parcel  post 
bring  your  drygoods?  Why  not  your  milk? 
And  when  it  got  to  be  common  the-  P.O.  De- 
partment would  put  on  carts  for  a  six  A.M.  de- 
livery. There  you  are! 

So  I'd  subscribed  for  a  thousand  shares, 
payin'  fifty  per  cent,  down  for  development  ex- 
penses, the  rest  on  call.  Yes,  I  know.  But  you 
should  have  heard  Blair  Woodbury  pull  the 
prospectus  stuff,  and  describe  how  the  divi- 
dends would  come  rollin'  in! 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  WITH  ALVIN    311 

That  was  six  or  eight  months  ago,  and  we'd 
stood  for  two  assessments.  Then  it  turned  out 
there  was  something  wrong  with  the  pulp  com- 
pressor dingus  that  was  to  have  shot  out  con- 
tainers at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  a  min- 
ute. Some  of  us  went  over  to  Jersey  to  see 
it  work;  but  all  it  produced  while  we  was 
there  was  a  groanin'  sound  and  a  smell 
of  sour  dough.  I  could  have  bought  out  the 
holdin's  of  the  entire  bunch  for  my  return 
ticket.  But  the  ticket  looked  above  par 
to  me. 

After  that  our  board  meetin's  wa'n't  such 
gay  affairs.  A  grouchy  lot  of  tinhorn  investors 
we  was,  believe  me;  for  the  parties  young  Mr. 
Woodbury  had  decoyed  into  this  fool  scheme 
wa'n't  Standard  Oil  plutes  or  any  of  the  Mor- 
gan crowd:  mostly  salaried  men,  witlra  couple 
of  dentists,  a  retail  grocer,  and  a  real  estate 
agent!  None  of  us  was  stuck  on  droppin'  a 
thousand  or  so  into  a  smelly  machine  that 
wouldn't  behave.  Maybe  it  would  next  time; 
but  we  had  our  doubts.  What  we  wanted  most 
was  to  get  from  under,  and  this  meetin'  to-day 
was  called  to  chew  over  a  proposition  for 
dumpin'  the  stock  on  the  Curb  on  the  chance 
that  there  might  be  enough  suckers  to  go 
around.  It  wouldn't  be  a  cheerful  seance, 
either,  and  bystanders  might  not  be  exactly 
welcome.  Misery  may  like  comp'ny;  but  it 
don't  yearn  for  a  gallery. 

So  I  has  to  hint  to  Alvin  that  as  I  had  a  little 


312      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

business  meetin'  comin'  on  maybe  lie  wouldn't 
find  it  so  entertainin'. 

"  Nothing  bores  me,"  says  he.  "  Humanity, 
in  all  its  phases,  all  its  efforts,  is  interesting." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.  "  Humanity  beefin'  over 
a  dollar  it's  dropped  through  a  crack  wouldn't 
furnish  any  Easter  card  scheme.  Talk  about 
grouchy  people !  You  ought  to  see  this  bunch, 
with  their  egos  clutchin'  their  checkbooks." 

"  Ah!  "  says  Alvin.  "  A  financial  deal,  is 
it?" 

"  It  was,"  says  I.  "  These  are  the  obsequies 
we're  about  to  hold." 

And  he's  so  prompt  with  the  sympathy  dope 
that  I  has  to  sketch  the  disaster  out  for  him, 
includin'  a  description  of  the  container  scheme. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  that  seems  quite  prac- 
tical. Rather  a  brilliant  idea,  and  far  too  good 
to  be  abandoned  without  a  thorough  trial.  It 
appeals  strongly  to  me,  Friend  McCabe.  Be- 
sides, I've  had  some  experience  in  such  affairs. 
Perhaps  I  could  help.  Let  me  try." 

"I'll  put  it  up  to  the  board,"  says  I.    "If 

they  say Ah,  here  comes  Doc  Fosdick  and 

Meyers  the  grocer  now." 

They  don't  appear  arm  in  arm.  In  fact,  at 
the  last  session  they'd  had  a  hot  run-in;  so  now 
they  takes  chairs  on  opposite  sides  of  the  room 
and  glares  at  each  other  hostile.  A  thin,  ner- 
vous little  dyspeptic,  Doc  Fosdick  is;  while 
Meyers  is  bull  necked  and  red  faced.  They'd 
mix  about  as  well  as  a  cruet  of  vinegar  and  a 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  WITH  ALVIN    313 

pail  of  lard.  Course  I  has  to  introduce  Alvin, 
and  he  insists  on  shakin'  hands  cordial. 

"  You  professional  chaps,"  says  he  to  the 
Doc,  "  are  such  fine  fellows  to  know.  Ah,  a  bit 
crusty  on  the  surface  perhaps;  but  underneath 
— what  big  hearts!  Delighted,  Mr.  Meyers! 
One  can  readily  see  how  you  translate  good 
health  into  good  nature.  And  I  congratulate 
you  both  on  being  associated  in  such  a  splendid 
enterprise  as  this  milk  container  scheme. 
Bound  to  be  a  big  thing;  for  it  is  founded  on  the 
public  good.  Altruism  always  wins  in  the  long 
run,  you  know,  always." 

Doc  he  tries  to  sniff  disagreeable,  and  Meyers 
grunts  disapproving  but  Alvin  had  'em  goin' 
for  all  that.  You  could  tell  by  the  satisfied  way 
the  grocer  lights  up  a  cigar,  and  the  soothed  ac- 
tions of  Fosdick.  As  the  others  drops  in  one 
by  one,  Alvin  kept  on  spreadin'  seeds  of  sun- 
shine, and  before  the  meetin'  was  called  to  or- 
der he  was  on  chummy  terms  with  nearly  every- 
one in  the  room.  The  point  of  whether  he  was 
to  stay  or  not  wa'n't  even  raised. 

It  was  Manning,  the  real  estate  man,  who 
sprung  the  new  proposition.  "  That  fool  in- 
ventor Nevins,"  says  he,  "  insists  that  if  we 
can  give  him  two  weeks  more  and  raise  twenty- 
five  thousand,  he  can  perfect  his  machine  and 
start  manufacturing.  Now  if  we  could  only 
find  buyers  for  half  those  unsubscribed 
shares " 

"  Bah!  "  snorts  Fosdick.     "  Hasn't  Wood- 


314      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

bury  hawked  'em  all  over  town?  Why  isn't  he 
here  now?  Tell  me  that,  will  you?  Because 
he's  done  with  us!  We're  squeezed  lemons, 
we  are,  and  he  can't  find  any  more  to  squeeze!  " 

"  Pardon  me,"  says  Alvin,  "  but  I  wish  to 
state  that  I  believe  fully  in  this  enterprise.  It's 
sound,  it's  scientific,  it's  progressive.  And 
while  as  a  rule  I  don't  go  in  for  speculative  in- 
vestments, I  shall  be  very  glad,  in  this  instance, 
providing  you  all  agree  to  stand  by  and  see  it 
through  with  me,  to  take — say  ten  thousand 
shares  at  par.  In  fact,  I  stand  ready  to  write 
a  check  for  the  full  amount  this  minute.  What 
do  you  say?  ' 

Well,  we  gasps  and  gawps  at  Alvin  like  so 
many  orphan  asylum  kids  when  Santa  Glaus 
bounces  in  at  the  Christmas  exercises. 

Manning  gets  his  breath  back  first.  "  Gen- 
tlemen," says  he,  "  isn't  this  offer  worth  con- 
sidering? Let's  see,  did  I  get  your  name  right, 
Mr. — er " 

"  Alvin  Pratt  Barton,"  says  our  Santa 
Glaus. 

"  Pratt  Barton?  "  repeats  Manning.  "  Any 
connection  with  the  brokerage  firm  of  that 
name?  " 

Alvin  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  smiles.  ' '  The 
late  Mr.  Barton  was  my  father,"  says  he. 
"  Mr.  Pratt  is  my  uncle  by  marriage.  But  I 
am  doing  this  on  my  own  initiative,  you  know. 
I  should  like  an  expression  of  opinion." 

Say,  he  got  it!    Inside  of  three  minutes  we'd 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  WITH  ALVIN    315 

voted  unanimous  to  hold  on  for  two  months 
longer,  made  Alvin  vice  president  of  the  com- 
p'ny,  and  his  check  has  been  handed  over  to 
the  treasurer,  which  is  me.  Then  he'd  shaken 
hands  hearty  with  each  one,  patted  'em  on  the 
back,  and  even  got  Doc  Fosdick  smilin'  amiable 
as  he  leaves. 

"  Alvin,"  says  I  after  they'd  all  gone,  "  take 
it  from  me,  you're  some  pacifier!  Why,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you  jumpin'  in,  I  expect  we'd 
jawed  away  here  for  hours  until  we  broke  up 
in  a  free-for-all.  Honest,  you  got  the  white 
dove  of  peace  lookin'  like  a  mad  fish  hawk." 

' '  Tut,  tut !  ' '  says  Alvin.  ' l  No  spoofing,  you 
know.  Really,  it  takes  very  little  to  bring  men 
together;  for,  after  all,  we  are  brothers.  Only 
at  times  we  forget." 

"  You  mean  most  of  us  never  remember," 
says  I.  "  But  you're  a  true  sport,  anyway,  and 
the  least  I  can  do  is  to  blow  you  to  the  best 
lunch  on  Fifth-ave.  Come  on." 

He  consents  ready  enough,  providin'  I'll 
stroll  over  to  the  Grand  Central  with  him  first, 
while  he  sees  about  some  baggage.  We 
was  makin'  a  dash  through  the  traffic  across 
Sixth-ave.  when  I  misses  Alvin,  and  turns 
around  to  find  him  apologizin'  to  a  young  fe- 
male he 's  managed  to  bump  into  and  spill  in  the 
slush  just  as  he  fetched  the  curb.  He  has  his 
hat  off  and  is  beggin'  her  pardon  in  his  best 
society  way  too;  although  he  must  have  seen 
at  a  glance  what  she  was, — one  of  these  brassy- 


316      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

eyed  parties  with  a  "hand-decorated  complexion 
and  a  hangover  breath. 

"  Ah,  chop  the  soft  stuff!  "  says  she, 
brushin'  the  mud  off  her  slit  skirt  vigorous. 
11  And  next  time  lamp  who  you're  buttin'  into, 
you  pie-faced,  turkey-shanked " 

"Well,  maybe  that's  enough  of  the  lady's 
repartee  to  quote  exact;  for  the  rest  wa'n't 
strictly  ladylike.  And  the  more  Alvin  tries  to 
convince  her  how  sorry  he  is,  the  livelier  she 
cuts  loose  with  her  tongue,  until  a  crowd  col- 
lects to  enjoy  the  performance. 

"Beat  it!"  says  I,  tuggin'  Alvin  by  the 
arm. 

"  Please  wait  here  a  moment,  Madam,"  says 
he,  and  then  starts  off,  leavin'  her  starin'  after 
him  and  still  statin'  her  opinion  of  him  reck- 
less. He  only  goes  as  far  as  the  florist's,  next 
to  the  corner,  and  I  follows. 

"  A  dozen  of  those  American  beauties 
quickly,  please,"  says  Alvin,  fishin'  hasty 
through  his  pockets.  "  Oh,  I  say,  McCabe,  can 
you  lend  me  fifteen  for  a  few  moments?  Thank 
you. ' ' 

And  in  a  jiffy  he's  back  at  the  curb,  pre- 
sentin'  that  armful  of  roses  to  Tessie  of  the 
tabasco  tongue,  and  doin'  it  as  graceful  and 
dignified  as  if  he  was  handin'  'em  to  a  Pitts- 
burgh Duchess.  He  don't  wait  for  any  thanks, 
either ;  but  takes  me  by  the  arm  and  hurries  off. 
I  had  to  have  one  more  look,  though,  and  as  I 
glances  back  she's  still  standin'  there  starin' 


A  LITTLE  WHILE  WITH  ALVIN    317 

at  the  flowers  sort  of  stupid,  with  the  brine 
leakin'  from  both  eyes. 

"  Alvin,"  says  I,  "  it's  some  education  to 
travel  with  you." 

."I'm  a  clumsy  ass!':  says  he.  "Poor 
wretch!  I  could  think  of  nothing  sensible  to 
do  for  her.  Let's  say  no  more  about  it.  I 
must  get  that  suitcase  from  the  baggage 
room." 

He  greets  the  grumpy  checkroom  tyrant  like 
a  friend  and  brother,  and  has  just  slipped  him 
a  cigar  when  a  husky-built  square-jawed  gent 
steps  up  behind  and  taps  Alvin  familiar  on  the 
shoulder. 

Alvin 's  jaw  sags  disappointed  for  a  second  as 
he  turns;  but  he  recovers  quick  and  gives  the 
cheerful  hail.  "  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Scully?  " 
says  he.  "I  thought  I'd  given  you  the  slip 
completely  this  time.  Hope  I  haven't  made  you 
a  lot  of  trouble. ' ' 

"  Not  a  bit,  Mr.  Barton,"  says  Scully.  "  Youi 
know  it's  a  change  for  us,  Sir,  getting  out  this 
way,  with  all  expenses  paid.  They  sent  Talcott 
with  me,  Sir." 

"Fine!"  says  Alvin.  "Of  course  I  like 
them  all;  but  I'm  glad  it  happened  to  be  you 
and  Talcott  this  trip." 

"  Hope  you're  ready  to  go  back,  Sir,"  says 
Scully. 

"  Oh,  quite,"  says  Alvin.  "I've  had  a  bully 
good  time;  but  I'm  getting  a  little  tired.  And, 
by  the  way,  please  remember  to  have  the  doctor 


318      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

send  fifteen  dollars  to  my  friend  McCabe  here. 
You  explain,  will  you,  Scully1?  " 

Scully  does.  "  From  Dr.  Slade's  Res- 
torium,"  says  he,  noddin'  at  Alvin  and  tappin' 
his  forehead.  "  Quite  a  harmless  gentleman, 
Sir." 

"  Eh?  "  says  I,  turnin'  to  Alvin.  "  You 
from  a  nut  factory  <?  Good  night !  ' ' 

"It's  a  whim  of  Uncle's,"  says  Alvin, 
chucklin'.  "  He's  gone  a  little  cracked  over 
making  and  saving  money.  Poor  old  chap! 
Ego  developed  most  abnormally.  But  the 
Judge  he  took  me  before  was  that  kind  too ;  so 
I  am  compelled  to  live  with  Dr.  Slade.  Jolly 
crowd  up  there,  though.  Come  along,  Scully; 
we  mustn't  be  late  for  dinner." 

And  off  he  goes,  smilin'  contented  and 
friendly  at  anyone  who  happens  to  look  his  way. 
Wouldn't  that  crimp  you? 

Course,  my  first  move  after  gettin'  back  to 
the  studio  was  to  dig  that  check  of  his  out  of 
the  safe  and  query  the  bank.  "  No  account 
here,"  the  clerk  'phones  back  prompt,  and  I 
could  see  the  Universal  Liquid  Container 
Company  takin'  a  final  plunge  down  the  coal 
chute. 

For  days,  though,  I  put  off  callin'  the  bunch 
together  and  announcin'  the  sad  fact.  More'n 
a  week  went  by,  and  I  was  still  dreadin'  to  do 
it.  Then  here  this  mornin'  in  romps  young 
Blair  Woodbury,  his  eyes  sparklin'  and  a  broad 
grin  on  his  face.  He's  flourishin'  a  bundle 


A  LITTLE  .WHILE  .WITH  ALVIN    319 

about  the  size  of  a  two  weeks'  fam'ly  wash,  and 
as  he  sees  me  he  lets  out  a  joy  yelp. 

"  Well,  why  the  riot!  "  says  I.  "  What 
you  got  there?  ' 

"  Containers!  "  says  he.  "  Old  Nevins  has 
got  the  compressor  working.  Sixty  seconds  to 
make  these,  my  boy — two  hundred  in  one  min- 
ute! Count  'em!  " 

"  I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  says  I. 
"  That's  fine,  too.  But  I'm  carryin'  all  the 
comp'ny  stock  I  can  stand.  Go  out  and  con- 
vince some  other  come-ons." 

"  I  don't  have  to,"  says  he.  "  Why,  during 
the  last  four  days  the  issue  has  been  oversub- 
scribed. It  was  getting  that  Mr.  Barton,  of 
Pratt  &  Barton,  on  our  list  that  turned  the 
trick." 

11  Alvin!  "  I  gasps.  "  Why — why,  he's  only 
a  batty  nephew,  that  they  keep  under  guard. 
Bughouse,  you  know.  His  check's  no  good." 

"  Doesn't  matter  in  the  least,"  says  Blair. 
"  He  made  good  bait.  We're  established,  I 
tell  you !  Get  the  board  together,  and  we  '11  let 
the  contracts  for  the  factory.  And  then — well, 
McCabe,  if  our  stock  doesn't  hit  one  hundred 
and  fifty, inside  of  six  months,  I — I'll  eat  every 
one  of  these!  " 

And,  say,  allowin'  for  all  his  extra  enthusi- 
asm, it  looks  like  we  stood  to  win.  I  expect 
the  other  directors '11  be  some  jarred,  though, 
when  they  hear  about  Alvin.  I  started  in  to 
break  it  to  Swifty  Joe. 


320      SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB 

11  By  the  way,  Swifty,"  says  I,  "  you  re- 
member that  Barton  party  who  was  in  here  one 
day?  " 

"  Mister  Barton,"  says  he  reprovin*.  "  Say, 
he  was  a  reg'lar  guy,  he  was!  " 

11  Think  so?  "  says  I. 

"  Think!  "  explodes  Swifty  indignant. 
' '  Ahr-r-r  chee !  Why,  say,  any  bonehead  could 
see  he  was  a  real  gent  to  the  last  tap  of  the 
gong." 

And,  say,  I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  break  the 
spell.  For,  after  all,  adinittin'  the  state  of  his 
belfry,  I  don't  know  that  many  of  us  has  so 
much  on  Alvin,  at  that. 


THE  END 


LOUIS  TRACY'S 

CAPTIVATING  AND  EXHILARATING  ROMANCES 

gg"          "  :SS 

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r-1  — *• 

CYNTHIA'S     CHAUFFEUR.  Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandltf 
Christy. 

A  pretty  American  girl  in  London  is  touring  in  a  car  wi& 
a  chauffeur  whose  identity  puzzles  her.  An  amusing  mystery. 

THE   STOWAWAY   GIRL.     Illustrated  by  Nesbitt  Benson. 

A  shipwreck,  a  lovely  girl  stowaway,  a  rascally  captain.  8 
fascinating  officer,  and  thrilling  adventures  in  South  Seas. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  KANSAS. 

Love  and  the  salt  sea,  a  helpless  ship  whirled  into  the  hands 
of  cannibals,  desperate  fighting  and  a  tender  romance. 

THE     MESSAGE.    Illustrated  by  Joseph  Cummings  Chase. 

A  bit  of  parchment  found  in  the  figurehead  of  an  old  ves- 
sel tells  of  a  buried  treasure.  A  thrilling  mystery  develops. 

THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT. 

The  pillar  thus  designated  was  a  lighthouse,  and  the  author 
tells  with  exciting  detail  the  terrible  dilemma  of  its  cut-off  in- 
habitants. 

THE   WHEEL   O'FORTUNE.     With  illustrations  by  James 
Montgomery  Flagg. 

The  story  deals  with  the  finding  of  a  papyrus  containing 
the  particulars  of  some  of  the  treasures  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba. 

A   SON  OF  THE  IMMORTALS.      Illustrated     by  Howard 

Chandler  Christy. 

A  young  American  is  proclaimed  king  of  a  little  Balkan 
Kingdom,  and  a  pretty  Parisian  art  student  is  the  power  behind 
the  throne. 

THE   WINGS    OF  THE  MORNING. 

A  sort  of  Robinson  Crusoe  redivivus  with  modern  setting* 
*nd  a  very  pretty  love  story  added.  The  hero  and  heroine,  art 
ihe  only  survivors  of  a  wreck,  and  have  many  thrilling  adventurer 
on  their  desert  island. 

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JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES  OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

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THE  TRAIL  OF  THE    LONESOME  PINE./ 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn./ 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  thai- 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
footprints  of  a  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  thanj'the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE    LITTLE    SHEPHERD    OF    KINGDOM    COME 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

*'  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains.  „ 

A'KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND.^ 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  f  eudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  fer-Sartain"  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

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STORIES   OF    RARE    CHARM    BY 

GENE  STRATTON- PORTER 

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THE  HARVESTER 
Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is 
a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  who  draws 
his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother  I 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in 
it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man,  with 
his  sure  gnp  on  life,  his  superb  optimism, 
and  his  almost  miraculous  knowledge  of 
nature  secrets,  it  would  be  notable.  But 
when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "Medicine 
Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  sound, 
Wealthy,  large  outdoor  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has 
.  !  come  to  him  —  there  begins  a  romance, 
troubled  and  interrupted,  yet  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 

FRECKLES]       Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford 

Freckles  is  a  "nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  tha  iray  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  his  love* 
story  with,  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment. 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST.  * 

Illustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  tcoodsj  a  buoyant,  lovable. 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 

It  is  an  inspiring  story  of  a  life  worth  while  and  the  rich  beauties 
of  the  out-of-doors  are  strewn  through  all  its  pages.  „ 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 

Illustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp.    Design  and  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour.     •  ^ 

The  scene  of  this  charming,  idyllic  love  story  is  laid  in  Central 
Indiana,  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self- 
sacrificing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and 
the  love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature,  and  its  pathos 
and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

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TITLES   SELECTED  FROM 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAFS  LIST 

RE-ISSUES  OF  THE  GREAT  LTTERARY  SUCCESSES  OF  THE  TIME 

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•  a 

SEN    HUR.    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace 

This  famous  Religious-Historical  Romance  with  its  mighty  storj* 
brilliant   pageantry,   thrilling  action  and  deep  religious  reverence,* 
hardly  requires  an  outline.    The  whole  world  has  placed  "Ben-Hur"  / 
on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which   no  other  novel  of  its  time  has  * 
reached.    The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  the  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination. 

THE    PRINCE  OE  INDIA.    By  General  Lew  Wallace 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  showing,  with  vivid 
imagination,  the  possible  forces  behind  the  internal  decay  of  the  Em- 
pire that  hastened  the  fall  of  Constantinople. 

The  foreground  figure  is  the  person  known  to  all  as  the  Wan- 
dering Jew,  at  this  time  appearing  as  the  Prince  of  India,  with  vast 
stores  of  wealth,  and  is  supposed  to  have  instigated  many  wars  and 
fomented  the  Crusades. 

Mohammed's  love  for  the  Princess  Irene  is  beautifully  wrought 
into  the  story,  and  the  book  as  a  whole  is  a  marvelous  work  both 
historically  and  romantically. 

THE  FAIR  GOD.  By  General  Lew  Wallace.  A  Tale  of  the 
Conquest  of  Mexico.  With  Eight  Illustrations  by  Eric  Pape. 

All  the  annals  of  conquest  have  nothing  more  brilliantly  daring 
and  dramatic  than  the  drama  played  in  Mexico  by  Cortes.  As  a 
dazzling  picture  of  Mexico  and  the  Montezumas  it  leaves  nothing  to 
be  desired. 

The  artist  has  caught  with  rare  enthusiasm  the  spirit  of  the 
Spanish  conquerors  of  Mexico,  Us  beauty  and  glory  and  romance. 

TARRY  THOU  TILL  I  COME  or,  Salathiel,  the  Wandering 
Jew.  By  George  Croly.  With  twenty  illustrations  by  T.  de  Thulstrup 

A  historical  novel,  dealing  with  the  momentous  events  that  oc-^ 
curred,  chiefly  in  Palestine,  from  the  time  of  the  Crucifixion  to  th«' 
destruction  of  Jerusalem. 

The  book,  as  a  story,  is  replete  with  Oriental  charm  and  richness^ 
and  the  character  drawing  is  marvelous.  No  other  novel  ever  written* 
has  portrayed  with  such  vividness  the  events  that  convulsed  Rome 
and  destroyed  Jerusalem  in  the  early  days  of  Christanity. 

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STORIES    OF    WESTERN    LIFE 

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RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE,    By  Zane  Grey. 
Illustrated  by  Douglas  Duer. 

In  this  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago,  w* 
are  permitted  to  see  the  unscrupulous  methods  employed  by  the  in« 
visible  hand  of  the  Mormon  Church^o  break  the  will  of  those  refus- 
ing to  conform  to  its  rule. 

FRIAR  TUCK,    By  Robert  Alexander  Wason. 
Illustrated  by  Stanley  L.  Wood. 

Happy  Hawkins  tells  us,  in  his  humorous  way,  how  Friar  Tuck 
lived  among  the  Cowboys,  how  he  adjusted  their  quarrels  and  love 
affairs  and  now  he  fought  with  them  and  for  them  when  occasion 
required. 

THE   SKY  PILOT,    By  Ralph   Connor. 

Illustrated  by  Louis  Rhead. 

There  is  no  novel,  dealing  with  the  rough  existence  of  cowboys, 
BO  charming  in  the  telling,  abounding  as  it  does  with  the  freshest  and 
the  truest  pathos. 

THE  EMIGRANT  TRAIL,    By  Geraldine  Bonner. 

Colored  frontispiece  by  John  Rae. 

The  book  relates  the  adventures  of  a  party  on  its  overland  pil- 
grimage, and  the  birth  and  growth  of  the  absorbing  love  of  two  strong 
men  for  a  charming  heroine. 

THE  BOSS  OF  WIND  RIVER,    By  A.  M.  Chisholm. 

Illustrated  by  Frank  Tenney  Johnson. 

This  is  a  strong,  virile  novel  with  the  lumber  industry  for  Its  cen- 
tral theme  and  a  love  story  full  of  interest  as  a  sort  of  subplot. 

A  PRAIRIE  COURTSHIP.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

A  story  of  Canadian  prairies  In  which  the  hero  is  stirred,  througn 
the  influence  of  his  love  for  a  woman,  to  settle  down  to  the  heroic 
business  of  pioneer  farming. 

JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS,    By  Harriet  T.  Comstock. 

Illustrated  by  John  CasseL 

A  story  of  the  deep  woods  that  shows  the  power  of  love  at  work 
among  its  primitive  dwellers.  It  is  a  tensely  moving  study  of  the 
human  heart  and  its  aspirations  that  unfolds  itself  through  thrilling 
situations  and  dramatic  developments. 

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B.  M.  Bower's  Novels 

Thrilling  Western  Romances 

Large  12  mos.  Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.     Illustrated 

CHIP.  OF  THE  FLYING  U 

A  breezy  wholesome  tale,  wherein  the  love  affairs  of  Chip  and 
Delia  Whitman  are  charmingly  and  humorously  told.  Chip's 
jealousy  of  Dr.  Cecil  Grantham,  who  turns  out  to  be  a  big.  blua 
eyed  young  woman  is  very  amusing.  A  clever,  realistic  story  of 
the  American  Cow-puncher. 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY 

A  lively  and  amusing  story,  dealing  with  the  adventures  of 
eighteen  jovial,  big  hearted  Montana  cowboys.  Foremost  amongst 
them,  we  find  Ananias  Green,  known  as  Andy,  whose  imaginative 
powers  cause  many  lively  and  exciting  adventures. 

HER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT 

A  realistic  story  of  the  plains,  describing  a  gay  party  of  Eas- 
terners who  exchange  a  cottage  at  Newport  for  the  rougn  homeli- 
ness of  a  Montana  ranch-house.  The  merry-hearted  cowboys,  the 
fascinating  Beatrice,  and  the  effusive  Sir  Redmond,  become  living, 
breathing  personalities. 
THE  RANGE  DWELLERS 

Here  are  everyday,  genuine  cowboys,  just  as  they  really  exist. 
Spirited  action,  a  range  feud  between  two  families,  and  a  Koraeo 
and  Juliet  courtship  make  this  a  bright,  jolly,  .entertaining  story, 
•without  a  dull  page. 
THE  LURE  OF  DIM  TRAILS 

A  vivid  portrayal  of  the  experience  of  an  Eastern  author, 
among  the  cowboys  of  the  West,  in  search  cf  "local  color"  for  a 
new  novel.  "Bud"  Thurston  learns  many  a  lesson  while  following 
"the  lure  of  the  dim  trails"  but  the  hardest,  and  probably  the  most 
welcome,  is  that  of  love. 
THE  LONESOME  TRAIL 

"Weary"  Davidson  leaves  the  ranch  for  Portland,  where  con- 
ventional city  life  palls  on  him.  A  little  branch  of  sage  brush, 
pungent  with  the  atmosphere  o£  the  prairie,  and  the  recollection  of 
a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  soon  compel  his  return._.  A  wholesome 
'Jove  story, 

THE  LONG  SHADOW 

A  vigorous  Western  story,  sparkling  with!  the  free,  outdoor, 
life  of  a  mountain  ranch.  Its  scenes  shift  rapidly  and  its  actors  play 
the  game  of  life  fearlessly  and  like  men.  It  is  a  fine  love  story  from 
start  to  finish. 

Ask  for  a  complete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26-ra  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


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